


You're the face of the future

by wearethewitches



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Camping, Childhood Trauma, Complicated Relationships, Custody Arrangements, Daemon Prejudice, Daemon Separation, Daemon Touching, Daemons, Female James T. Kirk, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Katra, Magic, Multi, Outer Space, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Strained Relationships, Tarsus IV, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans James T. Kirk, Trauma, Vulcan, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: James T. Kirk has a daemon and his name is Tiberius.





	1. Chapter 1

Tiberius flicks through big cats a lot.

“Are you going to be a lion, like Dad?” Jim questions at five, uneasy at the thought. _I don’t want to be like him._ Jim has only ever heard stories about George Kirk – about how he gave up his life and Separated with his daemon in the last few minutes of his life so she could be with Winona when Jim was born. Winona had seen the _Kelvin_ crash into the ship that caused a lightning storm and then the great lioness, Minkita, George’s daemon, had turned to Dust.

Tiberius rolls his eyes and Jim feels the familiar warmth of his companionship. The daemon jumps up onto Jim’s lap, shifting from a tiger to a hare. The change is startling and Jim isn’t quite prepared for it, never having remembered seeing Tiberius any smaller than a bush before. Tiberius’ ears deliberately brush Jim’s chin and the Kirk brings a hand up to stroke him, inspecting the strange texture and taking comfort from the daemon.

“I’m not going to be a lion,” Tiberius says. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Okay,” Jim replies, before Frank comes home from work, swearing up a storm. Jim and Tiberius sneak away, swiping a candy bar from the drawer before scattering to their room. Frank doesn’t even see them. Sam, who holes up in the treehouse – _I think he’s sleeping out there again_ – waves candidly through the window at Jim, his daemon, Sempronia, in the form of a black housecat walking across the banister of the balcony. Jim waves back.

* * *

“Mom, why is Tiberius a boy like me? Sam and Sempronia aren’t the same and you and Micha aren’t.”

Winona looks up from her PADD briefly enough to answer, her great brown grizzly daemon raising his head. “Studies show that the gender of your daemon represents that in which you lack, as much as their Settled form shows their owners true nature. Personally, I’d say don’t believe that shit, Jimmy. Scientists studying things they have no business in never ends well.”

The bitterness in her voice by the end tells Jim exactly why she thinks that about scientists and rushes away, Tiberius a rattlesnake on the ground. Neither wants to hear their mother mutter about Starfleet, knowing the hypocrisy of her statements – she hates Starfleet for taking George away, but she hasn’t resigned her commission, either, after six and a half years.

 _I’m a boy. Tiberius is a boy, too, though. I’d rather believe scientists than Mom, though._ Jim picks Tiberius up, who turns into a smaller grass snake, wrapping around Jim’s wrist. _So if Tiberius is a boy, I’m lacking boyness._ Jim doesn’t really know what to think about that. They don’t really feel like anything. _I’m a meat-suit with boy parts and a boy daemon. But Tiberius is my **soul**._

Logically, that means Jim must be a girl.

“Am I a girl, Tiberius?”

Tiberius’ tongue exits his mouth, tasting the air, a spine-crawling _hiss_ escaping his mouth. “I don’t know, Jim. Are you?”

Jim thinks about it a little longer, wandering into their bedroom and picking up a paperback book that had found its way under their bed. Jim tucks it away in the bookshelf, eyes latched on the faded yellow cover. _The Big Six_ sits by _Great Northern_ and Jim wonders at their collection for a few moments. George Kirk had left little for Jim, personally, nothing at all. In a strange twist of fate, Winona had been the one to grant Jim permission to read George’s prized antique books. Jim remembers reading _Swallowdale_ and _Winter Holiday_ and dreaming of sailing into space on the Wildcat with only Tiberius, Sam and Sempronia for a crew.

“Jim? Are you a girl?”

Jim looks away from George Kirk’s paperbacks to the questioning daemon who so wraps around Jim’s wrist.

“I’m a girl. You’re a boy and I’m a girl.”

Tiberius hisses in contentment and Jim gives her first smile of the day.

* * *

At school, it’s not a big deal. When Rosie Laurence asks why Jim is lining up with the girls, Jim says, “Because I’m a girl.” The word spreads quickly and the other kids are easily accepting of Jim’s preferred gender, even making an ‘official’ certificate, inviting Jim to use the female toilets if she got tired of using the unisex ones. A few times there’s some confusion, mostly with teachers – like when their Non-Standard Languages teacher misgenders Jim in Andorian and Kati corrects them, starting an epic half-hour of mind-boggling linguistics before the teacher realises that Kati actually isn’t correcting their _ability,_ just correcting them about Jim’s preferred pronouns.

That teacher gets the Official Memo out to the rest of the teachers. Jim gets congratulations from three out of seven and a merit from the Dean for her introspection.

So, at school, it’s not a big deal. Jim is a girl. Jim might get picked on, but that’s her own fault for her quick mouth and not because they demoralise Jim or disrespect her gender. Sam does get a bit confused when people talk about his sister though, until Jim talks to him in the treehouse and swears him to secrecy when it comes to Winona and Frank. Unfortunately, swearing Sam to secrecy isn’t really enough – especially when the school changes Jim’s records to reflect her identity suitably and sends a message to Winona, reminding her to turn in the forms to have Jim’s Federation Identification modified appropriately as well, to make things official.

“ _Jimmy,_ ” Winona calls her live, within a week of receiving the message. “ _I’ve heard some things from the school. Can you tell me what this is all about, honey? When did you decide you were a girl? Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?_ ”

The funny thing is, Jim doesn’t know why she didn’t want to tell her mother. There’s an obvious reason not to tell Frank – he’s verbally abusive and Jim doesn’t know his stance on transgender people. Winona might be unaware of her husbands behaviour, but her kids are and Jim doesn’t want to push her luck by giving him new material to scrounge insults from. Talking to her on camera, Tiberius a fruit bat in her lap, Jim for once, oddly enough, doesn’t know what to say.

“ _Tiberius…James,_ ” Micha rumbles. Jim shivers at the sound of her mothers daemon, her names on his lips. “ _Speak to us._ ”

“I’m a girl. I know I’m a girl,” Jim says quietly, clutching Tiberius to her chest as he turns into a guinea pig. “I know I’m a girl. Like I know how Tiberius is a boy.”

“ _Do you want me to make you an appointment with the hospital?_ ” Winona asks, a voice asking her to come to Engineering. She replies to say she’s coming, Jim watching her, unblinking. “ _I’ll tell Frank to give you some credits so you can catch the bus. Sammy could go with you._ ”

“…it’s okay, Mom.” Jim says, shaking her head.

“ _Alright. We’ll talk about it again when I come home._ ” Winona says her goodbyes before fleeing to Engineering, leaving Jim to end the call and think solemnly of the three months until her mother returns.

* * *

Being seven years old, Jim is offered a large range of options. She balks at a lot of them, her mother pursing her lips at the price. They say that it’s better to get everything done before puberty sets in, so she can grow naturally into a female body rather than a males – little can be done after a certain age, compared to children. However, they need her mothers permission for anything at all. Every check-up Jim goes to, every drug taken, every procedure and every surgery needs to be signed off – and every signature needs to be Winona Kirk’s.

“I can’t do it, sweetheart,” her mother whispers to her as the doctor gives them space. “I’m not here enough to…to do this with you.”

“Then stay. This is important, Mom,” Jim says, despite how she’s scared of everything. She’s scared of how her body would change and how she’d be monitored throughout the entire process, like a rat in a lab. She’s scared of inhabiting a body that isn’t hers, that’s been changed and touched up. Jim is fine the way she is. “Please.”

_It’s a test, Mom, I’m testing you, like at school, why can’t you see? Just say the right answer and pass, be my Mom-_

“No, I can’t leave Starfleet.”

Tiberius changes into crab spider, curling up between Jim’s neck and shirt collar, hiding under her long blonde, sun-bleached hair and she doesn’t change again until Winona is gone.

* * *

_“What is your name, citizen?”_

_“James Tiberius Kirk!”_

* * *

Winona sends her to live with her grandparents on Tarsus IV. They’ve been there for seven years already and have a couple of wheat fields that they manage as overseers. Jim goes to live with Papa Tiberius and Nana Samantha, only feeling a hint of guilt for destroying her Dad’s car. Frank is still trying to press charges but Winona won’t have it. The last thing Jim heard before being packed off to the colony planet was that they were getting a divorce.

 _Good riddance_ , she thinks as she ties her scraggly hair into an uneven ponytail, Nana Samantha’s flowery bandana holding back her fringe. She thinks of Sam and Sempronia, who’ll join her and Tiberius on Tarsus IV in little under a month. Winona said in her last message that Sempronia had Settled and Jim thinks that Sempronia is a cat – she had never really shifted into any other family and Sam has always been independent.

Jim works in the fields in the afternoon, after a morning of boring school – however, unlike Winona Kirk, her grandparents are quick to sign her on to advanced classes, so soon it becomes less boring and something she looks forwards to, for once. It might be strange to be doing work all by herself in the corner of the classroom, working on essays about astrophysics and designing engineering schematics for Starship engines when her peers are still learning how coordinates work. Nana Samantha always makes her do her homework after dinner, even when she’s ready to drop from tying wheat stalks together.

“You’ll get all that done, Jaime. You’re a very clever girl and I will not see that go to waste,” she says when Jim complains. Nana Samantha does that a lot – calling her Jaime rather than Jim, James or Jimmy. When she talks about it to Tiberius, her daemon doesn’t really know what to think of it either. Thus, they approach their grandfather, the original Tiberius, who both Jim and her daemon are named after.

He eyes them quietly, before patting his knee. Jim hesitantly climbs up, feeling his arm curl around her back and tug her into his chest. Yelena, Papa Tiberius’ daemon, a black leopard with grey circles under its coat nudges Jim’s ankle, causing her to gasp. Jim’s daemon Tiberius shifts into a dingo, bundling up on Jim’s lap, confused and wary.

“When you were born, you were given what is traditionally a male name: James Tiberius Kirk. They thought you were a girl, up until you were born.”

“I am a girl though,” Jim mutters.

Papa Tiberius nods, tapping her freckly nose. “They were going to name you Jacqueline, for your maternal grandmother. Most likely, you would have been Jacqueline Winona.” Jim wrinkles her nose up at the name. “Don’t make that face. You’re a girl now, which is why your nana calls you Jaime, to differentiate from James.”

“I like my name.”

“That’s good, fine, in fact. It’s just your nana, she’s used to people like you, who are girls in boys bodies and boys in girls bodies, or who don’t subscribe to binary terms – she’s used to them changing their names, like a new breath of life.”

Jim thinks on that for a while, Papa Tiberius reading the local news on his tablet as she ponders – only finally coming back to herself when her daemon turns into an owl. The change attracts her attention immediately, her eyes widening.

“You’re a bird, why are you a bird? Only witches have birds, like Nana Samantha!”

Papa Tiberius makes a surprised noise. “Now that’s interesting, kiddo. You’re not a boy anymore though, so it makes sense.”

“But- but witches are _born_ , they can’t be made,” Jim holds her daemon in her hands cradling him and staring at his downy wings, more of an owlet that a real owl.

“Let’s ask your nana.”

* * *

When Tiberius Kirk had married a witch, obviously, there were articles about it. Witches aren’t scarce or at all rare – however, very rarely do they allow themselves to be dictated by the feeling that is _love_. Samantha married Tiberius Kirk and had his children – three boys, all of which who died, knowing they would, for all witches are born knowing the day they are born and the day they are going to die on.

George Kirk never told his wife the day he was going to die – he never told her that he knew at all.

Jim’s Tiberius shifts between all manner of animals now, with the exception of big cats and grizzly brown bears. His classmates watch in awe as he jumps off a desk as an armadillo and flies up into the schoolhouse rafters as a merlin. In the evenings, Samantha teaches Jim the language of the witches and how to reach inside for her spirit – something that isn’t there for Samantha, that doesn’t exist for any witch.

Jim has a spirit, to her sadness. However, her daemon Tiberius still flits into bird form every so often and sports an American bald eagle form for the entire week that Sam is supposed to arrive. Sam himself stares in confusion at Jim’s daemon, Sempronia at his feet in the shape of a komodo dragon. Similarly, Sempronia confuses Jim because… _confidence? Going it alone?_

_…okay. That actually sounds like Sam._

“So, you’re a witch?”

“Sort of, but not really,” Jim shrugs when he asks on the way back to the farm. “Biology is just as important as my brain. Nana Samantha says that unless I went through with transitioning and had a cleansing ritual with the Clan Elders, I couldn’t be a proper witch – but I can do some stuff anyway. She’s teaching me lots and I even used her cloud pine once.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “You _flew?_ ”

Jim grins, “It was awesome.”

“Man, I wish I was a girl.”

* * *

Aer flies into the schoolhouse one day, feathers bedraggled and a cut streaming golden dust on his neck. Jim’s stomach is rumbling and she can’t wait for lunchtime, when the school gets a mandatory ration for each child. Upon seeing Jim, the herons wings giving out, feathers detaching from his white plumage, Jim rushes over, calling her name, lanky thirteen year old legs banging against desks as she makes her way from her corner.

“Aer!”

“Jaime, you need to run!” he gets out, his voice hoarse and panicked. “You need to run, Kodos is- Kodos is experimenting on people, on their _daemons_. Jaime, you need to run-” Jim barely gets within a foot of him before he bursts into golden dust, causing other children to scream. Jim’s eyes widen, because she knows what that mean.

_Oh my god. Nana…_

“What do we do?” Sam questions the teacher, who holds her chinchilla daemon tightly against her chest. “Miss Reese, what do we do?”

“We run,” Jim answers in her place, before a planet-wide alert appears on the board. Everyone turns to watch Governor Kodos smile distantly at them, pixels flickering. Something occurs to Jim that there’s something missing, something important, but she can’t tell what it is.

“ _People of Tarsus Four. As you all know, I have been working to find a solution to answer our famine problem. The fungus affecting the crops has left our stores depleted and after much calculation, it has been determined that there is only enough to feed three thousand people._ ” Jim’s heart beats soundly in her chest, because Jim _knows_ there were ten thousand people before the famine begun, seven thousand now, after so many have died. That leaves four thousand people without food. “ _However, a procedure has been found that can stretch these resources. A list has been made. If your name is on this list, you are hereby ordered to report to the Hospital. Let us all hope to survive these next few months, before Starfleet arrives with provisions. This is Governor Kodos, signing off._ ”

The screen flickers, his face disappearing. As a rolling list appears on the screen, Jim seeing her name somewhere in the middle, Tiberius presses against her neck, mouse voice squeaking in her ear.

“Jim, where was Kodos’ daemon?”

* * *

Sam finds a half-repaired shuttle in someone’s garage. Jim fixes it up, Tiberius ducking in and out of the mechanics to see to bits Jim can’t see. The other kids they’re hiding in the house are all younger than them both. The oldest is Kevin Riley, at ten-nearing-eleven, his daemon still Unsettled.

Sam is sixteen and the only one with a Settled daemon who could potentially be infected by the Dust-eating zombies that are the Daemonless. It happens through a process called _Intercision,_ using  alien materials and alien chemicals and it terrifies them all. Sam, convinced by Jim to go save himself, to get away from Tarsus IV, heads off in the shuttle in an attempt to get Starfleet to rescue them. Because of the magnetic field around Tarsus IV, there is no way to message anyone or get out an SOS. Jim is left in charge when Sam goes.

Sam is their only hope.

Starfleet does not come.

They leave the house, going into the wilderness. There is no food, no water. Rain is not a common occurrence on Tarsus IV and the lakes are purple, the fungus mutating to render anything it touches inedible and poisonous. Jim loses ten of the thirty-two kids in her charge to hunger, most of them toddlers with grabby hands who eat poisonous grass and venomous insects. She loses another eight to starvation.

There are fourteen of them for a long while, fifteen including Jim. Then, they raid a silo for food. Three are shot by Kodos’ guards. Two are captured and go through Intercision, going mad and screaming over and over for their daemons. Tiberius hears them and so does Jim, through their bond. They cry, shedding tears in pain and guilt. Tiberius flies further and further away from Jim, high in the dark sky. His wings are dark and they match the sky, the purple sun casting shadows always.

Jim and Tiberius go further and further apart, little nine-year old Tommy holding a gag over Jim’s mouth as they Separate.

Being Separated is like a video-game, where you control the character on the screen but there’s no physical connection. Jim and Tiberius curl up together, Tiberius still changing, Unsettled, but the gap between them is palpable even with skin-to-skin contact. Jim thinks of the witches of old, who on Earth would go North to where their daemons could not go of their own free will. She wonders – were they ever Unsettled like she and Tiberius are? Did the Separation force the final Change, freezing their daemons in their final form?

Some of the younger kids can’t remember what birds are like. Entertaining them – educating them, showing them every different type of bird she can remember, Tiberius changing to show them – is easy. It’s only when Tiberius tries to show Ziki what a bear looks like that they realise he can’t turn into anything _but_ birds.

“You really are a witch,” Tommy mumbles, before Rosily crawls over, little bunny daemon hopping in time, her hand reaching up to grab the feathers of Tiberius’ crane form. Jim shudders only slightly before accepting her touch, allowing the girl to investigate. Every brush of skin is both invasive and welcome. Other kids join Rosily when Jim doesn’t reprimand her and the Kirk lies up against a wall as her soul is touched by innocence again and again.

_It’s like being together. Unseparated._

The next day, Yarrow comes up to her, face determined as they hold out a long stick, shorn of little branches and leaves. It’s a dark purple, clear of fungus and when Jim takes it with a frown, she feels a cold from inside of it. Her eyes widen and Yarrow speaks.

“You’re a witch, so you’ve got to have a cloud stick to fly with.”

Jim wants to tell Yarrow that to fly, she needs a real cloud pine branch, but the stick feels like her Nana Samantha’s cloud pine. _Witches are everywhere, now – there has to be some other kind of magic in the universe like true cloud pine._ She stands shakily, bony and thinner than the kids she’s looking after and she wills herself into the air. The stick turns warm in her hand and Jim feels like she’s flying for a single moment, her weight lifting off the ground and her mass fading – but then she’s just Jim again, human and weighty. The stars up above don’t touch her skin and make her feel ethereal, like Nana Samantha said it felt and the stick cracks in her hand, falling apart to the ground.

“I need real cloud pine, kid. I’m sorry, but this isn’t it. But good try.”

* * *

When Starfleet arrives, Yarrow is dead and there are nine. When they bring them up into their Starship, Tiberius sits on her shoulder in the form of a woodpecker. Jim thinks it appropriate, considering that it was her SOS built from Kodos’ secret computers that got the Fleet’s attention. Woodpeckers are determination and communication – but they’re also still birds. Jim speaks for the Tarsus IV Nine, but the Captain is too busy staring at her daemon.

Tiberius, helpful as ever, transforms into a seagull and yaps at him, “What are you looking at?”

The Captain flinches and by the time they return to Earth, Jim has discarded her true identity, hacking into a computer and erasing herself. _James Tiberius Kirk_ was never on Tarsus IV, according to official records and neither was George Samuel. Samantha Kirk is listed among the deceased and Jaime of Enara was her ward.

A witch awaits her when their ship lands, a red flower behind her ear and Jaime walks over to her with heavy feet, Tiberius a crow flying above her head.

“There is no Jaime of Enara,” the witch says with frowning eyes when Jaime stops in front of her, all skin and bones, a PADD in her hand waiting for the witch’s signature. “But there is no Jaime Kirk, either. There is only a James Kirk. Your mother Winona is alive and you weren’t born into Clan Enara, despite your circumstances. Why lie?”

“Because my mom is on a Starship over thirty lightyears away,” Jaime says, Tiberius coming to sit on her shoulder, “and no matter my sex, I’m still something of a witch. Tiberius doesn’t change into anything but birds anymore. Clan Enara would be contacted soon enough about my guardianship because my mom won’t stop spacefaring for me. She just won’t.”

The witch sighs a little, before nodding. “What happened to your brother?”

“He’s lost. Gone. Not dead, but might be. He went up in a shuttle to get Starfleet last year and never came back or told anyone where we were that actually decided to help.”

The witch looks to Tiberius, head tilting a touch, “You are Separated from your daemon.”

“I had to be,” Jaime snaps, glaring slightly before the witch sighs, taking the PADD from her and signing Jaime into her guardianship.

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

Jaime meets eyes with the witch. “What’s your name?”

“Amanda. Amanda Grayson – and it’s very nice to meet you, Jaime.”

* * *

Vulcan is…dry. Both literally and metaphorically, because the Vulcans themselves don’t deal in metaphors. Amanda invites Jaime into her home and they work around her allergies and health issues, which are vast after eight months of eating bark and testing food to make sure the others can eat it. Jaime stays in her room most of the time and refuses to meet anyone other than the house’s actual owner – Sarek, Amanda’s husband, who is the driest of dry people _ever._ Sarcasm isn’t lost on him because of his Terran wife, but he doesn’t appreciate it either, even if he’s somehow _really_ good at it, sometimes.

“We have a son, too, Spock. He’s wrapped up in studying, these days,” Amanda tells her over dinner. They eat in Jaime’s room on her bed, leaning against the pale orange walls. Tiberius perches on her bedside table in the form of a hummingbird, copying Amanda’s daemon, King. “You should try Vulcan school.”

“Maybe,” Jaime shrugs before finishing her second bowl of soup and the last of the wheat-free bread and margarine.

The next morning before daybreak, Jaime sneaks out of the house, leaving a note saying she’s gone to explore ShiKahr. Over the last couple of days she’s focused on learning Vulcan, distracting herself from the events of Tarsus IV. Tiberius has simultaneously been flicking through pictures of Vulcan birds – of which there aren’t many at all. The only one Jaime takes an interest in is the _sha’vok_ , an eagle-like bird with a two point five metre wingspan that eats reptiles and rodents.

Flying ahead of her as a _sha’vok_ , Tiberius locates ShiKahr and thus, Jaime goes in the opposite direction. She doesn’t really feel like subjecting herself to strange looks and – most likely – an inquiry from the local law enforcement as to who she is and why she’s on Vulcan at all. Anyway, Amanda told her about _kahs-wan_ a few days ago. As if Jaime is going to willingly interact with Vulcans her own age that see her as some silly, stupid kid for not completing their local game.

Ten days in Vulcan’s Forge will be nothing to her time on Tarsus IV.

_I’m going to ace this._

“Let’s go exploring,” Jaime shouts to Tiberius, who lets out a weird noise that makes a lizard run out from a piece of rock. Jumping, Jaime stares at it briefly, watching it disappear under another rock before grinning and making her way further into the desert.

_Jaime vs. Vulcan, round one, a-go!_

* * *

“You are an idiot,” Amanda says to her eleven days later, after her impromptu pilgrimage across the Forge. Jaime grins at her with chapped lips, putting her hand up for a high five. Amanda glares. “Don’t you dare, Jaime Enara.”

Jaime pouts. “C’mon, Amanda – I completed _kahs-wan_ and ever got a souvenir, look!” She brings out the le-matya necklace she made out of ones teeth and long fur. “Surprise!”

Amanda shuts her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. “Oh, you are grounded. Totally grounded – and you’re going to school. There’s a challenge for you.”

“School isn’t a challenge for me,” Jaime chuckles, grinning. “Promise.”

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

The next day, Amanda wakes her up with a call of her name and tells her that Spock is driving her to school. Jaime, reflexes primed and hands ready to snap Amanda’s neck like she’s a Daemonless that’s found their cave if she gets too close, stares at the woman standing in her doorway.

“Jaime?”

“…right,” Jaime replies, voice rough and cracking. “School. I’ll…get ready.”

She meets Spock for the first time wearing jean shorts and a white t-shirt, raising an eyebrow at his dress as she crouches to tie the laces of her antique red Converse, fringe flipping over her eyes and her ponytail tickling her neck.

“Don’t you get hot in that?” Tiberius flies over to land on her shoulder, a bright blue Vulcan _lara_ that looks like a dove but without a fan of feathers hanging off the end. Spock is in a long Vulcan robe and it looks… _debilitating._ Jaime doesn’t think she’d be able to survive in it.

“Vulcan control allows me to regulate my internal temperature to adequately suit my surroundings,” Spock replies. His eyes watch Tiberius for a few moments and Jaime takes a moment to feel surprise, as she sees a capsule hanging around his neck, blue butterfly fuzzy but visible through the distorted glass.

 _I thought Vulcans didn’t have daemons,_ she thinks, remembering Amanda’s explanation prior to meeting Sarek, learning that Vulcans had a _katra_ – their souls living inside their bodies. Standing up, Jaime tries to remember what butterflies signify but comes up short.

“Are you ready to depart?” Spock questions her.

“Just a sec,” she grabs her jacket – a new jacket made of brown leather that Amanda special-ordered for her from Earth after she came to Vulcan with her. Tugging it on, she glances back at Amanda. “What are the hours, then?”

“School starts at half past seven and finishes at five. Lunch is half an hour long at noon,” Amanda replies, a smile appearing as Jaime recoils.

“What the hell? That’s like, nine hours!”

“The school day lasts approximately nine hours and thirty-five minutes, as you are required to sign in and out at both the beginning and end of the day,” Spock interjects, Jaime shaking her head.

“Let’s just go. It can’t be too bad.”

* * *

Jaime is wrong. It’s terrible – it’s all memorisation and problem-solving in individual stations. By nine o’clock, Jaime is bored to hell and just lies down on the ground, napping as the computer asks her the same question over and over again at five-second intervals. Soon, one of the adults overseeing them comes to the edge of her station.

“Jaime of Enara, is the material of too high a difficulty? There is no shame in admitting failure.”

“It’s boring,” Jaime replies after a moment, answering the question and sitting up. “Can I just test out?”

“Vulcan schooling does not allow ‘testing out’ as an option.”

“But this is _boring_ ,” Jaime whines. “The computer keeps asking me shit that I learned _years_ ago.”

The Vulcan looks at her questioningly, “Jaime of Enara, is the material…too _low_ a difficulty?”

Jaime sighs, rubbing her face. “Halfway there. I mean, stuff regarding like, Surak’s principles I’ve never learnt, obviously, but yeah – if the subject is universal, I’ve probably learnt it already.”

“I shall adjust the difficulty of your material, Jaime of Enara. However, as you have mentioned, this only solves half the dilemma. How might this ‘boredom’ you face be countered, so as to improve your learning?”

“Uh…” Jaime glances at Tiberius, who’s a penguin today. He turns into a duck and Jaime looks to the overseer. “Could I have a physical task to complete, to keep my hands busy while I answer question after question?”

The Vulcan nods shortly before walking down the steps into her station, revealing themselves to be male – Jaime hadn’t known whether or not their voice could tell her, but sight definitely did.

“Computer, bring up a three-dimensional chess hologram to be played while learning commences.”

“I’ve never played three-D chess before,” Jaime looks at the newly-appeared hologram in interest. The rules appear on a screen to her left and she skims them, answering the computers current question distractedly and then the next as she moves her first piece, as white. The Vulcan overseer plays black and the game goes on, Jaime becoming frustrated as she loses more pieces.

However, it is, to her own surprise that she continues to answer the computers questions as she plays more and more games with the overseer that day. When the half-hour for lunch comes, her computer shutting down and the 3D chess disappearing, Jaime looks at her opponent.

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

The Vulcan tilts his head. “Sybok, son of Sarek.”

“Sarek?” Jaime blinks. “I’ve not seen you around.”

“I do not live with my father and we are estranged. The Lady Amanda misses me dearly, I have come to understand from her frequent messages,” Sybok says. “However, her grief at my distance most likely silences her. Sarek does not approve of her bringing me up at the dinner table, apparently.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s not good,” Jaime glances up out of her station to where other Vulcan teens have gathered, watching her in eerie silence. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

“Pictures are outdated,” one girl says. “With your permission I would take a holo.”

Jaime raises her eyebrows, “Are you serious?”

“Vulcans do not partake in frivolous speech. As I said, with your permission I would take a holo,” the girl repeats and Jaime shakes her head, making her way up the stairs from her station.

“Fine, sure. Take a holo, but in return you show me where we get lunch.”

“A sound trade,” she says. “I do not have the necessary equipment to create a satisfactory holo at this time. I shall show you the location of the dining area presently, provided you still allow me to take your holo two days hence.”

“Agreed.” Jaime says, before her stomach gurgles. The Vulcan girl looks at it sharply, her expression turning disturbed. Jaime grins, patting it. “No Vulcan control for me. I’m pretty hungry.” Jaime goes to hold out her hand for introductions but at last minute raises it into the _ta’al._ “I’m Jaime, daughter of George of Clan Enara. Nice to meet you.”

The girl offers the _ta’al_ as well. “T’Kera, daughter of Karun. It is…interesting to meet you, in return.”

In other words: Jaime makes her first friend on Vulcan. She thinks.

* * *

“We are friends, right?”

“Friendship is illogical.”

“…that didn’t answer my question, but alright. Why is friendship illogical?”

T’Kera doesn’t pause to answer Jaime’s question, instead speaking while tying the last braid of her hair back, pinning it behind her pointed ear, framing it. Jaime lies back on T’Kera’s bed, idly twirling the end of her blonde fishtail plait.

“In Vulcan society, relationships what you might term as ‘friendships’ are formed for the benefit of each party and cut off upon completion of the required exchanges. This itself opposes what ‘friendship’ defines itself as by human definition.”

“Well, not always. I mean…there are different kinds of friends,” Jaime sits up as T’Kera looks over at her via her mirror, glaring slightly at her position. Tiberius on the ground – curled up in the form of an emu – rests his beak on Jaime’s shoulder, prompting the human to stroke her gently. “There’s an infinite number of ways to be friends and most aren’t dictated by ‘human definition’, if by that, you mean the definition from a dictionary.”

T’Kera purses her lips, beginning the last of her braids to pin back. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.”

“Yeah,” Jaime grins a little at her. “Though, by Earth standards, we’re at least past the acquaintances stage of our personal social relationship.”

“How? Explain, Jaime,” T’Kera demands, unblinking as she watched Jaime like a hawk.

“Well, we’ve continued to meet up outside of school, like now – inviting me over to your house and vice versa is a part of it, sometimes. It’s early days for the both of us, so, I mean, it would be pretty easy to decide against being friends-”

T’Kera interrupts. “Inviting you to my home and inviting I to Ambassador Sarek’s was only logical, considering the circumstances of each visit. While we may have been able to study in ShiKahr’s libraries and archives, as minors it is wise that we be supervised and in close proximity to our guardians, in case of an emergency.”

“We’re not studying now,” Jaime points out.

“You speak the truth, yet it was you who requested leave to stay longer to socialise,” T’Kera finishing her braid, inspecting her overall appearance before standing, twisting. “I am ready for my father’s meeting. It is well overdue for your departure. Would you prefer to finish this discussion at our next meeting or may I consider this line of conversation ended?”

Jaime stands, Tiberius shifting into a lara bird, fluttering onto her shoulder in her sudden nervousness. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you more about…about being friends. I don’t have any and I’d like some.”

T’Kera tilts her head.

“If it brings you comfort, you may consider me a friend up until this discussion is resolved.”

“Thank-you.”

(In other words: Jaime makes her first friend on Vulcan. T’Kera will thankfully not be the last.)

* * *

Winona visits five months after her original touchdown on Vulcan soil. Her mother doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around Jaime’s shoulders and it’s to Jaime’s upset to find they’re the same height. When she looks into her mother’s eyes, they’re at the same level and her mother seems _small_. Jaime is fourteen and still has lots of time left to grow taller.

_Will I be like my dad? Will I be six foot tall?_

“Jimmy, I’m so sorry,” Winona grasps her face, pressing their foreheads together so hard it almost hurts. Jaime doesn’t care, though, numb to it as she grips her mother tightly. “I can’t find Sam. When I got Amanda’s message, I looked for him, I took time off-”

“You what?” Jaime mutters, stumbling as she processes her mothers words.

“I took time off, I tried looking for him. Starfleet’s trying to track him down, but there’s nothing.” Winona tells Jaime, stepping away only slightly, holding her hands tightly, not wanting to let her go. “I was so glad to hear you were safe, after the report about Tarsus IV went out. I’m sorry for not contacting you, I should have come sooner.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

“Jimmy, are you happy here?” Winona asks, “Because if you’re not, I’ll resign permanently. We can go back to Earth, we can make this work properly. I’ve not been there for you and I should have-” Winona tears up and Jaime becomes uncomfortably aware of the Vulcan’s whispering about their inappropriate display. Micha lets out a low rumble and nudges Jaime’s lowered hand, Winona shuddering at the contact.

“We should take this somewhere private,” Amanda intervenes on Jaime’s behalf, touching Winona’s elbow and leading her over to a closed waiting room. Jaime trails behind them, disinterestedly picking up her mothers fallen duffle. Micha stays behind Jaime and almost reading Jaime’s mind, Tiberius flutters down from her shoulder onto the grizzly’s back, a horned owl today.

 _You should have settled by now,_ Jaime thinks absentmindedly, reaching out to brush the head of her daemon companion. The Separation mutes the feeling of contact – not with Jaime, not physically, but with Micha. The bear is her mother’s soul and Tiberius’ claws on his fur create a pleasant buzzing in the back of her mind that feels like someone’s running their hand backwards through her hair – pleasantly static.

Winona’s words reverberate through her mind. _I’ll resign permanently. We can go back to Earth, we can make this work properly._ Jaime steps into the closed-off waiting room, looking at her mother, knowing she _is_ happy here on Vulcan – as much as she can be. The only thing she lacks is friends, but Jaime doubts she could make any proper ones, right now. Even socialising with T’Kera is hard and that takes more logic than it does intuition, like with humans – and logic is easy, compared to _that_.

“Winona and I know each other,” Amanda says, unprompted. “We were roommates, in Starfleet Academy.”

Jaime raises her head, frowning, “You were?”

“Lawson, Grayson and Cho, united against the guys,” Winona says, rubbing at her face. “I’m a fucking _wreck._ What the hell have I done?”

“You came back,” Jaime mutters, providing one good thing she’s done, even if she revels at hearing her mother curse. Tiberius flies up onto her shoulder, flitting from an owl to a blue jay as she tucks her hands in the pockets of her sun-yellow skirt.

Winona smiles tiredly. “You didn’t answer my first question. Are you happy, here?”

“…yes,” the teen answers, reluctantly. “I am. Does that mean you’re going to go back to Starfleet?”

“Only if you don’t want me here.”

“What if I _need_ you?” Jaime queries, stepping up. “What if I need my mom? What if I _always did_ and you _weren’t there?_ ”

“Then I wasn’t there, alright?” Winona snaps. “I wasn’t there for you and I should have been. It’s my fault you look like this, rather than how you _want_ to look.”

Jaime straightens, like she’s been given a slap to the face. _I never wanted to as a kid,_ she thinks, _now I might want to, **now** I’ve changed my mind – but back then no, **no.**_  Stunned, she stares at her mother, even as Amanda looks between them curiously.

“What do you mean by that?” Amanda questions, Winona flushing, staying stubbornly silent. Jaime swallows, clenching her fists in her pockets before taking them out to cross over her chest.

“She could have taken a leave of absence when I was a kid, so she could sign my medical forms. I’m male, biologically.”

“…I see,” Amanda purses her lips. “I knew that from your Federation ID.”

“I know.” Jaime says, staring her mother down for a tense few moments. Then, she forces herself to be calm, looking to Amanda Grayson – the sole reason she lives here on Vulcan, rather than in any other Enara household. _Winona is my mom, but Amanda is always here_. “I want to stay on Vulcan. Please, let me.”

* * *

When Jaime was young, Winona used to curl up with her and Sam on the front porch of their house in Iowa, on the swing-seat. She’d point up at the sky and point out constellations, telling them which way was the prettiest way to get to the other end of Federation space, rather than the easiest. Winona has always loved space and so has Jaime, just from how her mother talked about it.

Space. Jaime would stay in Sam’s treehouse with him, sometimes and they would use Frank’s telescope to try find those constellations their mother talked about. One of the most beautiful things Jaime has ever seen was a meteor shower, from the top of Papa Tiberius and Nana Samantha’s water silo on Tarsus, that turned the purple sky green.

Staying on Vulcan, Jaime watches her mother leave in one of her precious Starfleet shuttles, picked up by a passing ship so she can transfer back onto the _U.S.S. Essex-B._ Afterwards, she goes camping out in the desert with Spock.

“You have unusual coping mechanisms,” he tells her.

“I like the Forge, it’s calming,” Jaime replies from the cave entrance, looking through a pair of binoculars to watch the sandfire storm in the distance. “The weather is cool, too.”

“That could kill us, as could many things here.”

“So?”

Spock doesn’t answer her, instead meditating, as per usual. _He’s so boring,_ Jaime thinks, watching him set up easily by the wall. She watches the sandfire storm for a little while longer, before sealing up the cave entrance with a degradable carbon foam. Then, she explores the cave.

The wide area they’d camped out in once seeing signs of the approaching storm looked small, at the start, but Jaime had spied a couple of nooks and crannies. She shimmies through one of them, scratching her abdomen on a spiky rock, which she scolds quietly, before slinking the rest of the way through the tunnel to the end.

“I don’t like this,” Tiberius whispers to her, but their shared curiosity wins out and he flutters forwards in the form of a catbird.

That, of course, is how her daemon finds the _le-matya_ den.

He hurries back to her as a hummingbird, urging her back. Jaime follows his directions perfectly, only to find a _le-matya_ laying across Spock’s lap. Frozen at the edge of the tunnel, Jaime watches the _le-matya_ growl at something in the shadows.

“Another _le-matya_ ,” Tiberius says in barely more than a breath, a clinging to her ear tightly. Jaime wants to try finding the second beast, but her eyes stick to the _le-matya_ on Spock’s lap. It shouldn’t be so fascinating, but it is, the leathery grey-green of its hide looking like a goddamn _rock_. _Camouflage_ , Jaime thinks, seeing it hiss again at the other _le-matya_ prowling about in the dark.

Said other _le-matya_ decides to get closer, regardless and Jaime takes the threat to Spock a little more seriously. Emboldened, she rushes out of the nook, letting out the loudest roar she can give, Tiberius squawking before transforming into a _sha’vok_. His gold and brown feathers reflect the light of their battery-torches and the two _le-matya’lu_ both shriek, jumping back – but the one on Spock’s lap reacts quickly, diving for it’s threatening counterpart.

“Spock!” Jaime rushes over to him as the beasts begin fighting, shaking his shoulders, even as badly, insanely, she worries if she’s got the pluralisation of _le-matya_ right. “Wake up, wake up-”

The _le-matya’lu_ shriek and fight in the background, never growling – only shrieking. It gets on Jaime’s nerves before too long and more than once, Tiberius has to let out an alien holler belonging to the _sha’vok_ form he’d taken, to get them to mind themselves. Luckily, at least one of them is clever enough to knock the other away from them.

Checking Spock over as he refuses to return from his own mind, it takes Jaime too long to realise his daemon capsule is open – that his little butterfly is gone. Her heart beats frantically in her chest as Jaime remembers the daemonless on Tarsus IV, spreading disease and _Dust._ But Spock is not like those people and he’s warm beneath her hands, which creep down to his wrists.

 _It’s like Sleeping Beauty, but less creepy, because we’re in danger,_ Jaime thinks, trying to console herself for what she is about to do. She takes his fingers in her own, focusing on her fear and the word _danger._ She repeats it in her mind over and over – _danger, danger, danger._

Spock’s eyes open sharply and Jaime’s breath hitches, before she’s roughly shoved to the side. Spock stands, darting over to their back-packs, disengaging his _lirpa_ from the magnetised strap.

“This is why we should not have left the house,” Spock informs her, before joining the _le-matya’lu_ scrimmage. But it’s so strange – it’s like Spock is fighting with one of the _le-matya’lu,_ rather than waiting until one had injured the other so severely he could get in a hit, which is what Jaime would have done.

“Jaime,” Tiberius hops up onto her lap, wings still flared, “One of those _le-matya’lu_ is a daemon.”

“What?”

Jaime doesn’t understand and yet she does, for it’s obvious as soon as he points it out. One of the _le-matya’lu_ is obviously not an animal. The daemon _le-matya_ works with Spock, is obviously _Spock’s daemon_. The only problem Jaime finds in this situation – other than the obvious, that they are being attacked by a _le-matya_ whose den they had accidentally invaded – is that Jaime thought Spock’s daemon was a butterfly, that his daemon was _Settled._

Spock is seventeen. His daemon should have Settled long ago, according to human daemonology.

“He’s not fully human,” Tiberius says to her. “We shouldn’t judge him by either standard.” _Which is valid_ , Jaime thinks as Spock and his daemon take down the _le-matya_ , getting to her feet.

“Okay, so that was…awesome,” Jaime says, swallowing her fear as she steps closer to the downed beast, already bleeding green into the sand. “Also, I’d like to ask a question, if that’s acceptable. Actually, a few.”

Spock, stiff, still holding his _lirpa_ in a ready-position, looks away from her. He kneels down and rubs the lirpa down with sand, removing the _le-matya_ blood, his daemon swiftly turning into a butterfly once again, settling on his head. Jaime watches him clean his weapon in silence, before he puts it down and carefully transfers his daemon back into her daemon capsule.

“Spock,” Jaime addresses him seriously. “I won’t tell anyone, if this is supposed to be a secret.”

“…my thanks,” Spock stands up, returning the _lirpa_ to their bags. “Were there any _le-matya_ cubs that you saw? They will die, without their mother.”

“Not that I saw,” Jaime mumbles, feeling guilty. Negative emotion gnaws away at her. “I’m sorry. I know you only came with me because Amanda asked.”

“Mother was worried for you,” Spock says. “She obviously was right to. However, I believe she had ulterior motives, also. I have been severely isolated my entire life and the Forge has always brought out…the beast in me, as she has said beforehand. My _huht-katra_ or ‘daemon’, a term you are more familiar with, will most likely Settle into a _le-matya_.”

“That’s cool,” Jaime murmurs, unsure as to whether Spock would find it rude if she asked why his daemon hadn’t Settled already.

As if expecting her question, Spock continues, “I am not at peace with myself. Therefore, my daemon cannot Settle. Once I have found stability, my daemon will become what she is meant to be.”

“That’s great, Spock,” Jaime glances back to Tiberius, who takes the chance to beat his powerful wings, sending sand everywhere as she flies up onto Jaime’s shoulder, heavy as hell. Jaime almost winces at it. “Tiberius is being a pain, not making up his mind.”

Spock frowns at her. “You are your daemon. Have you not found your purpose, Jaime of Enara?”

“Not really,” Jaime says, attempting to shrug but failing. “Ti, buddy.”

“I like this form,” Tiberius says, twirling his _sha’vok_ head around like he’s an owl. “It’s actually quite comfortable.”

Jaime widens her eyes in alarm, but recognises what he means, if she reaches inwards, hand rising up to brush his wing. It’s a heaviness she wouldn’t expect, a feeling of _rightness._ But Tiberius changes into a falcon and it fades.

“…right.” Jaime finally replies, shaken. Swallowing, she looks to Spock, forcing a smile onto her face. “We’ve not really talked much, have we? How about we start fresh? Hi – I’m Jaime and this is my daemon, Tiberius.”

Spock takes a moment to reply, hand reaching up to his daemon capsule hesitantly. “I am Spock,” he says, letting his daemon out onto his fingers. Her blue wings are bright in the browns and yellows of the cave. “This is my _huht-katra,_ Majel. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jaime.”

Jaime smiles, brighter and happier than before, “Nice to meet you, Spock and Majel.”

(If, from there on, whenever Jaime and Spock spent time together inside their home, Majel was in the form of a _le-matya,_ that was no-one’s business but their own.)

* * *

Michael Burnham is a witch.

Jaime knows it, because like Amanda and like Jaime herself, Michael has a bird for a daemon – a crow, to be exact. When Amanda arranges for Jaime to attend the Clan Meet, Michael Burnham meets her half-way there and accompanies her the rest of the way.

“So, you were raised on Vulcan?”

“Partly,” Michael says, smiling ever-so-slightly, “You’ve taken my old room.”

“Amanda likes fostering us bold types, doesn’t she?” Jaime grins, watching Michael shake her head before they tuck into the evening meal – as much as you can have an evening meal on a spaceship, at least. “What happened?”

“An attack. My parents were killed. As a ward of Clan Enara, like you, I was placed in the house of another witch – my parents knew Lady Amanda, so I lived with her and Sarek. They are as much my parents and the Burnham’s were, before they passed.”

Jaime points her fork at Michael, “Does that mean you knew Sybok?”

“Briefly. He went to live with T’Rea, his mother,” Michael says, eyeing her. “How do you know about Sybok?”

“He works at my school. He likes to make sure I’m doing well,” Jaime replies. “I hear you’re Sarek’s favourite.”

“If you could call it that,” Michael says neutrally. “Do you know why Mother arranged for you to come to the Clan Meet?”

* * *

Starlight. Music. An ancient tree bends under the weight of a thousand witches and their daemons. Jaime kneels in front of the Witch Queen Serafina Pekkala and when the Rites are said and done, cloud pine – proper cloud pine, like her Nana Samantha’s – is given to her.

“You will venture North,” the Witch Queen says with her red flower crown, so pretty on her blonde head like Jaime’s, “and your daemon shall remain behind, for there is where he cannot go. Your cloud pine shall carry you to the Grove and when you return, you shall be a witch in truth. The magic of the universe has deemed you one of us, but this must be done, young Jaime.”

Jaime takes her cloud pine, tall and curved in her hand. Tiberius’ torso brushes up against her head, _sha’vok_ appearance heavy on her shoulder and Jaime _knows_ , bone deep.

“I will watch him,” Michael says, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the line where daemons cannot cross. Tiberius squawks and sits by Spock’s sister, her crow daemon silent as Jaime crosses the line.

 _We are already Separated,_ Jaime wants to say, to tell Michael and the Witch Queen. _Tarsus IV was our home and our hell._ She remembers the purple mould and the children under her care, of Yarrow who gave her a branch that shattered when the magic of witches coursed through it. The cloud pine in her hand feels strong and as she looks up at the stars, she lifts off the ground, starlight soaking into her skin. The constellations are different and Jaime _aches_ to be up there, closer to what she knows, intellectually, are balls of fiery gas.

 _I could do it. I could go up there in a spaceship – I could captain my own ship, even._ Jaime wants and wants and _wants._

When she gets to the Grove, her eyes close and darkness envelopes her.

* * *

It takes Jaime three years for her to get anywhere near close to comfortable in her new skin. Periods are the _absolute worst,_ although the post-transformation nausea easily beats it, if there’s a competition. Her chest is strange and soft and her skirts fit better, now that her hips are wider. It’s like puberty. She remembers what she used to look like, grinning at the mirror all to herself as she spies each change, what makes her _female._

Amanda helps her immensely, as does Michael. Sarek and Spock try their best, which is very appreciated as ‘their best’ is _extraordinary_. One time when Jaime goes through her cycle, testosterone levels raised up again so very suddenly, she cries and Sarek appears with raspberry sorbet and a spoon. Jaime forgets he’s Vulcan, hugs him, then eats an entire two pints of sorbet in front of the holo-projector, all to herself.

“He remembered my allergies!” Jaime exclaims to Michael over vid-chat, after a different vid-chat with T’Kera that resulted in the Vulcan teenager expressing her confusion over why Jaime didn’t see Sarek as a father-figure after how long it’s been since being adopted into her new family – though, T’Kera believes Jaime changed her name from James to Jaime because of Vulcan adoption culture, not because of her transgender state. Michael, with her mixed cultural background, is more congratulatory over Sarek’s thoughtfulness.

“ _He also prepared in advance. Did you say what your favourite dessert was, at any point?_ ”

“Maybe? I’m not really one for favourites,” Jaime says, remembering abruptly that Michael most likely is unaware of her history, despite the three years since their first meeting. “The allergies-thing is relatively new, actually. I was involved in…in a crisis. Starfleet didn’t get there in time.”

“ _Amanda informed me, though I don’t know the details,_ ” Michael replies. “ _She has been extremely upset by it, in the past, when we have talked in vague terms about your placement with her. She loves you very much._ ”

Jaime smiles softly. “Really?”

“ _Indeed. Our time is nearly up, however._ ” Michael eyes something off-screen, that ‘something’ eventually moving into view. Jaime peers at the other Starfleet officer, who is clearly in her pyjamas and who Jaime has not met before, on vid-chat or otherwise. However, considering that state of dress and previous discussions of Michael’s personal life, Jaime has a pretty good idea who this is. “ _Jaime, this is my wife, Philippa. I may have mentioned her, before._ ”

“Oh yeah,” Jaime grins, “Hey, Michael’s-wife.”

Philippa raises a sceptical eyebrow. “ _I see you’ve been gossiping, Michael._ ”

“ _Yes, Emperor, gossiping._ ” Michael purses her lips, looking up at her wife with a disapproving face. “ _You should probably get dressed._ ”

“I agree,” Jaime is quick to say, as Philippa’s robe slips. “I’m getting quite the eyeful.”

Philippa grouchily tugs her robe shut. “ _Say goodbye, Michael._ ”

“ _Farewell, Jaime,_ ” Michael says, raising the _ta’al._ Jaime barely manages to return it, before the connection cuts out.

“She’s probably going to get some of that,” Jaime snickers to herself, before messaging Spock, asking him what he’s doing.

**_SPOCK: I am studying._ **

**_JIM-JAM: Studying what?_ **

**_SPOCK: The history of Starfleet. It is a required course._ **

**_JIM-JAM: And probably more interesting than any VSA History course._ **

**_SPOCK: Cease._ **

Jaime rolls her eyes.

**_JIM-JAM: We both know that the VSA are bastards and that, while joining them might have once been pretty rad, you’re having the time of your life in Starfleet._ **

**_SPOCK: The VSA are a respectable institution, simply behind in the times._ **

**_JIM-JAM: Ooh, burn. So ‘behind in the times’ = ‘racist bastards’?_ **

**_JIM-JAM: I’m telling Michael this, by the way. She always enjoys learning about her baby brother’s sass._ **

**_SPOCK: Michael does not need to know._ **

**_JIM-JAM: Michael DOES need to know. My argument in favour of this decision is that it would bring her joy, a beneficial emotion for humans._ **

Spock replies, but Jaime doesn’t get to see it as almost simultaneously, a knock comes from the door. Putting down her PADD, Jaime walks to the other side of the room and opens it to find Amanda, bearing a cardboard box marked _FRAGILE_.

“Is that for me?” Jaime blinks, surprised.

“Yes,” Amanda says simply, a grin curling onto her face. Jaime, wary, takes the package, which is heavier than she expected and opens it there and then, surprised to find her father’s books. Jaw slipping downwards, she picks up his copy of _Swallows and Amazons,_ awed. “Winona sent lots of things. This is just the one she said you’d like the most.”

“Well- well _yeah,_ ” Jaime says, quiet. She puts _Swallows and Amazons_ back inside the box carefully, bringing it inside her room and setting it down on her desk, on top of homework and her most recent group-project with T’Kera and other Vulcan students she’d become acquainted with. “Did she send anything else marked as important?”

“Apparently, she would have sent keys,” Amanda says wryly, “but someone drove the car to go with them into a quarry.”

“I was in the right,” Jaime replies instantly.

Amanda leans against the doorframe, almost hesitant in her movements. Jaime could understand why – Vulcan’s don’t do ‘frivolous movement’ and leaning against something is a sign you can’t stand on your own. They don’t understand why humans do it and Amanda had been on Vulcan for over twenty years. _Maybe I rubbed off on her,_ Jaime thinks with a hint of a smile.

“Your mother is selling the house you grew up in.”

Her smile dies.

* * *

Iowa is the same. From the smell in the air to the crops surrounding the house – it’s all the same. Jaime climbs up into Sam’s treehouse the first night, unable to sleep in the house that Frank pounded through every evening, in the house where her blood is spilt on the floor. There are marks on the wall by the front door that say _Sam, age 5_ and _Jim, age 4_ and there’s a lock on the inside of the cupboard under the stairs that Jaime installed herself, so as to have an extra hiding place when Frank was drunk and raging.

Winona transferred the deed over to her. Jaime has it on her PADD, attached to her civilian accounts data and in paper, lying on the dining table that Jaime did her homework on when she was eight.

A week into her self-imposed _hell_ , Jaime gets a job in the local town, using the savings her mother set up for her to buy a bike and get a license. Her ID says _female_ and the patrons leer at her chest, even though the bartender only lets her work till nine at night washing dishes and serving bar food. At seventeen, her hometown is small and humid, full of old-timers and engineers working at the shipyard. In two months when she turns eighteen, Jaime will have the run of the place, but until then it’s empty.

The shipyard is her saving grace.

_I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to join Starfleet._

Before that happens, though, Jaime has to actually figure out her Earth-side education, which is a pain in the ass. Vulcan has its own standards and no way did she manage to get the high credentials needed to enter Starfleet before she left – Vulcan’s leave their schools at nineteen, after all and not any sooner, ever. Any hope of getting qualifications from there are gone and to top it all off, her experience doesn’t transfer over to her Earth education.

It will be another year before Jaime can leave Iowa and that’s if she’s managed not to throw herself in jail, by the end of it.

T’Kera advises her to have better emotional control. “ _You are human, but you are better than this, Jaime of Enara_ ,” her friend scolds her over vid-chat as she simultaneously writes a report. “ _S’chn T’gai Spock has been in contact with me, requesting your contact information. As we previously discussed, I have declined._ ”

“Thank-you. I’m sorry for asking you.”

“ _Do you regret requesting such a favour of me?”_ T’Kera queries. “ _For I can deliver such information to him. You  are aware that I do not approve of this lack in contacting your foster-family._ ”

“No- no, it’s fine, T’Kera. Your help is appreciated. Thank-you.”

“ _I will only continue to help if you improve your efforts in your scholastic advancement._ ”

“Great,” Jaime laughs humourlessly. “I’ll get right on it.”

“ _Your tone relays your sarcasm. Friend, you must advance. If there is no advancement, stagnation results._ ”

“I’ll get somewhere, T’Kera, don’t worry about me. I’ll do better, I swear,” Jaime replies genuinely, sighing to herself. “Good luck with your essay. Peace and long life to you.”

“ _Peace and long life._ ” They exchange the _ta’al_ before Jaime cuts the connection, sighing again – then, she begins the large lot of homework she’s refused to do.

“I’ve got to start somewhere,” she mutters, before digging in.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Her hand grips a smaller one. The tiny child beside her – a mere toddler, barely three but old enough to count to twelve and know her name is _Jojo_ – is near tears. Jaime leads her through destruction, the red of her Cadet uniform grey from concrete dust and ash. Behind them, Tiberius is flying through the wreck that was Jojo’s apartment building, looking to see if there are any other survivors that they missed in their panic to get to the screaming toddler.

“Okay, kiddo, I’m going to have to pick you up,” Jaime says to the girl, who immediately starts crying and attempting to get away from her. Jaime can’t let her go, though, holding her tight – _too tight_ – as she begins walking through a particularly rough area, stumbling when some aftershocks of the earthquake ripple through the ground.

Jojo screams and her arms latch around Jaime’s neck, choking her more than the dust does, for a moment. Against her heart, creeping inside her reds, between the buttons and thick fabric, something flutters and presses, feeling like _fear_ and _I want someone_. Jaime feels it like Micha’s fur in her hands, her mother’s emotions faint in the distance. Jojo shudders against her and this is not supposed to happen between _anyone,_ let alone strangers.

“We’re going to be fine, don’t worry, shh…” Jaime rubs her tiny back, feeling the tiny shudder of her lungs as her ribcage expands and deflates, her daemon another soul against Jaime’s heart. She tries to calm herself, to make herself _safety_ for this child. Around, she can see other Starfleet cadets and teams helping various citizens. Across the road, some engineers are building a makeshift rig around a collapsed piece of concrete, assumedly with trapped waiting underneath to be rescued.

Jaime walks in as clear a path that she can, before she stalls upon coming across a panicking group of what looks like two dozen ensigns in front of a demolished old folks home. First years – not third year, like she is. Six months of classes haven’t prepared them well enough for this. They shake and snap, arguing with each other as five plus others do a mixture of CPR, emergency first aid and rescue. They’re the only ones doing anything and there’s no leader in sight.

 _I can’t walk past this,_ she thinks and then she’s stomping over, back straight and her tongue sharp. They must think she’s a captain or a lieutenant, with how greyed out her cadet reds are – she’d just spent the last hour digging through a particularly empty building, gaining temporary custody of a two year-old because her nanny is deceased. The ensigns – _her fellow ensigns_ – snap to attention and Jaime gets a rundown from the first cadet that regains their voice.

“Right,” she says, after learning there are twenty-four ensigns here today and that yes, they are first years like she thought. “I want a grid sweep of the building. Everyone pair up and eight of you, volunteer after I’m finished to stay outside to take care of the injured civilians. I’ll be out here running a line to emergency services.”

There are other things she says, orders, _shouts_. Jaime gets lost in the job, Jojo still with her arms wrapped around her neck. Her back aches from carrying her and often, she switches her to the other hip. Tiberius returns to her and he organises the daemons better, using the strengths they gained from their chosen forms to search and rescue.

The daemon that had slipped inside her jacket to rest on the curve of her chest is distracting. It has to be. Jaime can’t afford to slip and crush it. She refuses to become _unaware_ of it. By the time the emergency services are here to take away the wounded and temporarily house the rest in a cleared space, in the sanctuary that is a red tent liberally marked with the _Médecins sans Frontiers_ logo as more volunteers pour into their grid number, Jaime has spent an inordinate and frankly _unheard of_ amount of time in contact with Jojo’s daemon.

“Cadet Kirk,” a fellow lieutenant-commander cadet eventually addresses her, “You are relieved of duty. Report back to the Academy.”

Jaime glances at Jojo in her arms, who is not asleep, no matter how she hides her face under that long, downy brown hair of hers. Her tiny hands grip tightly to Jaime’s ashen reds and the lieutenant-commander adds

“There is a child refuge centre being organised at the Academy. Take her. She’ll be better off there than here.”

“Thank-you, Lieutenant,” Jaime says before leaving, Jojo shifting and pressing a kiss to her head, near her eye.

“Home?”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Jaime replies.

* * *

Jojo’s full name is _Joanna McCoy_ and her father is currently treating the severely wounded in San Francisco Hospital. He’s a doctor and there is no excuse he can use to leave – even his daughter.

“Looks like you’ll be staying with me for a while,” Jaime says to the girl, who is still locked around her neck. She wouldn’t leave Jaime for anything and the nurse who checked up on her had to work with her limpet arms in the way. Walking out of the Academy, Jaime babbles about life – about her classes and her usual week, all the while with a burning awareness that there is a temporary guardianship form, signed and witnessed, filed on the PADD in her back pocket.

When they finally reach her apartment, Tiberius finally joins her. He flies in through the window and startles Jojo into letting go, Jaime using her loosened grip to her advantage. Jojo is plopped down onto the bed and Jaime removes her cadet reds, delicately peeling off the tiny flickering daemon from her chest and depositing it in Jojo’s grip.

Immediately, said tiny flickering daemon turns into a giraffe. It would be hilarious, had he not actually _hit the roof_.

Jojo cries and the daemon becomes a puppy, curling up in her arms as it whimpers. Tiberius flutters across to the bed, nudging closer and closer. Jaime, acutely connected to Jojo, feeling her emotions at perhaps thirty times her normal empathy level, kneels by her side and draws both the girl and her daemon into an embrace.

“Shh, shh… _hush lil’ baby, don’t you cry, the sun shall wake up when you rise; when you sleep, then so shall I, for I will sing you lullabies…_ ” Jaime croons to her, singing and whispering.

Both of them sleep after Jojo is calm again, Jaime pulling up the covers and pushing her boots off. The skin-to-skin contact is comforting to children, Jaime remembers – it was something Nana Samantha said, all those years ago – but she leaves her skirt on, stripping Jojo out of her dirty jumper. She doesn’t feel comfortable undressing a young child, not now, even when that was her responsibility on Tarsus, when toddlers and babies were hers to care for in the wilderness before they died, still in her care.

 _This isn’t Tarsus,_ Jaime thinks. It all brings back bad memories.

* * *

In the morning, she gets over herself. Jojo is much more like a real kid when she’s screeching in delight, splashing water at Jaime from the big bucket Jaime has requisitioned so she can bathe Jojo while the shower sprinkles down gently from above.

She mock-gasps when Jojo splashes her – she’s already down to her underwear, ready for her own shower afterwards – and gets her revenge by tickling her, faux-attacking the little girl with a rubber duck that used to be Sam’s. In the big bucket with her as a fish, Jojo’s daemon _Lincoln_ , affectionately called _Link_ , decides to turn into an actual duck, taking up lots of space and spilling lots more water out of the bucket.

“Who’s a silly girl?” Jaime teases, “C’mon Jojo, Link doesn’t fit like that!”

Jojo squeals and then Link is out of the bucket, waddling around and around the base of the shower, keeping within a foot of his other half.

“Bubbles!” Jojo demands and Jaime washes her hair, letting some soap spill into the bucket for Jojo to splash into bubbles. They disappear eventually, washed away by the shower that makes the water spill over the rim.

* * *

Doctor Leonard McCoy loves his daughter and that is very clear to see.

Watching them hug each other tightly, McCoy looking at Jojo in awed, happy delight as she narrates how Jaime rescued her, Jaime feels a small spike of jealousy, wanting that – or specifically, wanting her Tarsus babies back. She wants tiny baby Adiia with her speckled green eyes, dark-skinned Ziki who had turned four the day they ran – _he died because he always gave his food to Kayden_ – and blonde Rosily who had spikes running down her back and on her cheeks, orange appendages that flared when she was happy and disappeared when she was scared.

“Jaime!” Jojo shouts and as a little green frog, Link bounces across the gap to her, landing haphazardly on Jaime’s chest. She automatically lifts him up, moving him to her shoulder where he rests his clammy mouth against her neck. In horror, Doctor McCoy moves as close as he can, his arm pressing again Jaime’s as his armadillo scolds Link from far below.

“Lincoln McCoy, get right back into Joanna’s grasp _now!_ ” she hisses, before Jaime feels embarrassment bloom in her chest, too used to this. Link always finds a way to be close to her – Jojo always refusing to walk anywhere. She’s been doing this for a week, now.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for- for her to get _attached,_ ” Jaime tries to excuse herself, quickly passing Link back to Jojo, who wilts at her father’s daemon’s words. “When I was leading evac procedures, she was with me and Link had skin-on-skin contact with me for hours – snuck right under my clothes looking for safety.”

McCoy takes a step back when Jaime returns Link, but he doesn’t flee or get angry. Instead, very solemnly, he puts a hand to Jaime’s shoulder.

“You saved her. It’s been too long. I shouldn’t expect anything different from a child so young,” McCoy purses his lips, dark eyes boring into Jaime’s. Starkly, Jaime realises that it’s _him_ who Jojo had inherited her Georgia County accent from, before the little girl started speaking with Jaime’s Mid-West.  “I owe you. Anything you want that I can give, it’s yours.”

 _Anything,_ he says.

Jaime’s mouth opens-

“Can I spend time with Jojo?”

* * *

Kuron, T’Kera’s cousin, is a different friend Jojo made on Vulcan. T’Kera put them in contact when she learnt that Winona and Sarek had fostered her, as Kuron had once belonged to another Vulcan house.

“ _She speaks without direction or logic and is terribly uneducated in comparison to Vulcan children,_ ” he says, fascinated, after interacting with Jojo for fourteen point eight minutes. Jaime, amused by his assessment, glances to where Bones is supervising Jojo’s consumption of vegetable quiche, becoming even more entertained at his ruffled expression. “ _Does the child have learning deficiencies?_ ”

“No, Jojo is actually clever for a human child,” Jaime says truthfully. “When I was her age, I threw my green beans at the wall because I didn’t think things the same colour as grass were supposed to be eaten. Bones is a doctor – he teaches her something every time they speak.”

“ _As things should be,_ ” Kuron’s lips turn down only slightly, his version of a frown. “ _Her numeracy is lacking, however._ ”

“She’s three,” Jaime replies. “I’d be surprised if she could count past twenty. Human brains aren’t formulated for rote memorisation. Part of childhood education is training our brains how to actually learn.”

“ _My talk with young Jojo was informative,_ ” Kuron replies. “ _My dinner appointment is fast approaching._ ”

“Good luck with that,” Jaime offers, knowing his reminder is his way of asking to end the conversation. “Live long and prosper, Kuron.”

They exchange the _ta’al._

“ _Live long and prosper, Jaime of Enara._ ”

* * *

There are nights where Jaime wakes up in a cold sweat and she panics, because her covers are tangled around her legs. She tumbles out of bed and when she’s less dazed, she realises she’s sitting in Bones’ bathtub and in the distance, Tiberius is wrapped up in Jojo’s arms in her bed.

“I’d medicate you, if you weren’t so damn fragile,” Bones cusses and holds her tightly every time she slips into his bed afterwards. His arms are strong and _safe_ , unlike her memories of Tarsus IV when arms around her meant less time to protect her children. Adult arms. Not tiny, skinny, bony little limpet arms that clung to her and stopped her from reacting to danger.

Living with Bones is something she didn’t expect to do, but somehow, she is. Bones signed up for Starfleet after learning she would be a Captain eventually, skipping straight to second year with his medical license that boosts him from _ensign_ straight to _lieutenant._ Jaime would be jealous if it didn’t mean he and Jojo were in her life, if it didn’t mean she gets to stay in his guest room that isn’t really for anyone else – she gets _family_ that isn’t lightyears away, on another planet or _lost_.

Jaime tries to ignore how Spock guest lectures, this year, rather than flying around with Christopher Pike like usual. _He’ll be on the U.S.S. Enterprise_ , she thinks, scolding herself for ever thinking she’d help captain such a beautiful ship whenever she deletes her name from his class register.

“I try to separate my life into parts,” she tells Bones over lunch one day, casually and calmly, despite the subject matter. “I used to live on Vulcan, for instance. Knew a lot of people, but I keep in contact with only a few of them.”

“Your friends must miss you,” Bones says, distant and Jaime makes a note in her head to ask him about Georgia and what he left behind when his ex-wife took the state in their divorce. “What happens when the Academy is behind you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve slowed down your career trajectory.”

It’s true, she has – Jaime is only doing her course part-time, nowadays, waiting for Bones to catch up to her. All for a good cause, of course. Jaime refuses to leave without Bones in her ships medical bay and Jojo in the family quarters.

Twirling her gluten-free pasta on her fork, sauce flicking off to splatter the side of her bowl, Jaime shrugs. “I won’t leave you behind, don’t worry, Leonard.”

* * *

When Jaime called Bones ‘ _Bones’_ for the first time, she made the decision to only ever call him his real name when she was being serious. It doesn’t occur to her that Bones realises this until she’s recruited to babysit Jojo more between her work shifts at the local bar, so he can dig deeper into the coursework. Starfleet charts his career trajectory on computers that Jaime hacks into, just to see.

“You’re going to graduate when I do,” she confronts him once Jojo is asleep, in the summer when Bones is submitting the last of his first-semester third-year work. He’s spent all summer working and studying – Jojo only back that evening after spending two months with her mother. By winter, Bones will have caught up to her. Jaime is in her fourth year at twenty-one and Captain Pike has promised her a space on his bridge, when she graduates.

Her only request was to have Doctor Leonard McCoy with her. She ignores how it means Spock might be working with her, if he isn’t captaining his own ship by then.

“You’re not getting rid of me,” Bones says, kissing her forehead firmly, like he does with Jojo when she’s going to sleep.

 _Granted,_ Pike had said, almost instantly.

* * *

Jaime isn’t the first witch to have joined Starfleet – far from it, in fact. However, witches who do join usually only spend a century or so in the Fleet before retiring. Michael Burnham is the only witch other than Jaime to currently be employed.

“I know you don’t want to see us,” Michael whispers to her, arm wrapped around her shoulders as they embrace each other. Jaime struggles to contain her tears, gripping the dark blue and silver of her uniform as Tiberius and Michael’s crow, Raphael, similarly reunite. “But we miss you, jitterbug.”

“Me- me too,” Jaime says, full of shame as they stand on the transport pad. Across the room, Pike watches on with a furrowed brow, his Genevieve sat neatly by his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Michael squeezes her gently, before stepping back. “I think today will be punishment enough,” she says then, voice touched with humour. “Calibrating transporters for witches is apparently something of a chore because of how we interact with the fabric of reality, so programmers often skip over it when rigging transporters for the first time.”

“So, what? I’m going to learn the calibration schematic?” Jaime frowns. “I could do that without you being here.”

“I’m sure you could,” Michael replies, Raphael fluttering up to rest on her shoulder, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why?”

Pike clears his throat, “Ensign, Commander Burnham is going to be teaching you how to shift into a tangible form – one the transporters can pick up.”

…shifting between planes of reality. _Of course._ Jaime looks to Michael, pouting.

“Can’t I just learn the calibration schematic?”

“No, you cannot.” Michael smirks. “Come on, little sister, you don’t think you can do it?”

Jaime immediately puffs up, Tiberius squawking, “I can do it! I’ll do it better than you, even! How long did it take you to learn?”

“Three years, four months and fifteen days,” Michael says, as if she isn’t a super-duper genius just like Jaime. Blanching, the Kirk wonders exactly how hard this is going to be – if this is something you can only learn from being a witch your entire life or if, because of her magical transformation, it will be easier.

“Okay,” she says, uneasy, glancing at Pike. “Will you be staying, sir?”

“No,” Pike replies, head tilting back, “I have another ensign on his way over, different track to you – younger.”

“Younger?” Jaime repeats, blinking. “Sir, I’m turning twenty-two. How young is this kid?”

“Fourteen.”

“… _fourteen?_ And he’s already in Starfleet?”

“He’s in his second year,” Pike says, smirking. “I’ve already poached him for the _Enterprise._ I’m going to have the best crew I can get.”

“Woah, Captain,” Michael jokes, “leave some for us.”

“The _Discovery_ already has a fine crew,” Pike waves her off, “You can get the next generation of recruits.”

“The _Discovery_ has an amazing crew,” Michael corrects. “You wish you had a crew as good as ours.”

Jaime, amused by their interaction, questions her foster-sister. “You’re still on the _Discovery_ with Emperor Georgiou as her Number One? You know, I found out why no-one calls her _Captain_ , even though that’s her rank – why did you never tell me there are _two_ Georgiou’s running around?”

Michael inclines her head, just as the doors to the transport room open, “You didn’t need to know.”

In the doorway, a teenage boy with a slightly hunched back stands up straighter, hands clasped behind his back as he looks to Pike. By his side is an arctic fox, silent as he reports to Pike.

“ _Keptin,_ sir. Ensign Chekov reporting for duty, sir.”

“At ease,” Pike directs him inside with a wave of his hand, “Come in, Pavel, meet the ladies.”

Chekov hesitates before moving, daemon startling as the door closes behind them. _Jumpy,_ Jaime thinks, eyeing him up. His uniform is slightly too big and she wonders if his mother got him it in a size bigger for him to grow into. Barely containing her snort, Jaime nods to the first-year.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice- nice to meet you, as well,” Chekov greets and he’s _definitely_ Russian. Jaime isn’t surprised – Russia was the country to fire a dog into space before the US could. Baby genii must be a commodity. She watches his eyes flicker over Michael’s distinctive uniform – unique to the _Discovery,_ but still recognisable and more importantly, _readable_ – before settling on her rank sliders. He startles again, saluting.

“Commander!”

“At ease,” Michael says calmly, a smile tugging at her lip as she reaches up to stroke Raphael’s beak.

“Chekov is here because he needs something to take up his time,” Pike says dryly. “He’s like you, Jaime, finishing his coursework before he even gets in the classroom. Less sure of himself, though.”

“I think you mean he isn’t a cocky bitch,” Jaime replies cheekily, wiggling her tongue at him. Chekov stares at her, eyes wide. Jaime saunters over, bopping him on the nose. “C’mon, kiddo, sit down at the computer, now. When I was your age-”

“Kirk!” Pike snaps, voice loud. Jaime quiets, looking at him in confusion. Pike glances at both Michael and Chekov before muttering. “That’s classified, nowadays. I should have informed you.”

Jaime’s blood runs cold. _Tarsus IV is classified. But they’d only do that if…_ “Did you find Sam?” she questions, surprised at her own desperation. “Chris. Tell me what happened.”

Pike sighs, shaking his head. “You’ll have to put in a formal request to the admirals, Jaime. I’m not kidding when I say it’s classified. Highest regs only – not even you can talk about it, anymore.”

“That’s not fair,” Jaime snaps.

“It’s _life,_ ” Pike replies, terse. He looks to Michael. “Commander Burnham, I’ll leave you to it. When you’re finished with Chekov, send him to me.”

“Captain,” Michael nods, before Pike leaves – Jaime still bubbling with anger as she stomps back over to her sister, agitated and buzzing with _absolute murder._ The doors open and close with _zings_ and Chekov quietly sits down in front of the transporter computer.

Immediately, Tiberius hisses, brown tongue reaching out of his beak as he creates a heavy wind, flying to settle on Jaime’s shoulders. Chekov in his seat swallows deeply, watching them with fascination. Pacing, Jaime then curses _extremely_ colourfully, interspersed with the words _admirals_ , _what do they know_ and _they must have found Sam’s ship._ Tiberius curses along with her, synchronised and simply echoing her own anger back at her, but louder.

Michael eventually gets tired of it. “Enough,” she cuts into Jaime’s tirade, “Deal with it another time, shout at the admirals, not at thin air. It does nothing here. Also, Ensign Chekov is unaware of the events you speak of and if he is-” Michael glares in his direction “-then his computer usage should be monitored and his parents informed that he _somehow_ knows the details of classified files.”

Chekov immediately puts his fingers in his ears. “I cannot hear, oh no, oh no…” he looks away, basically agreeing not to say a word. Jaime sends Michael a dirty look, which she returns before lecturing her on how to turn her transient form into something the transporters can lock onto.

It’s a dismal reunion.

* * *

_Run, run, run, run…_

She ducks behind a corner leading towards the Academy Director’s office, trying to hide, but Tiberius is making a lot of noise and displaying her innermost wants and desires – getting Majel’s attention. When Spock ventures down the stairs, his le-matya daemon jumps up in the air to greet Tiberius, the two daemons immediately getting into a scuffle on the ground, yowling happily.

Of course, a crowd forms and Jaime, feeling strangely connected to her Separated daemon, shivers as she hides behind the corner. Those that recognise Tiberius whisper and Spock- Spock stares at Tiberius like he’s never seen him before.

 _Did he even know I was here?_ Jaime thinks, feeling the guilt from her own betrayal. Spock was her friend. Is her friend. _I left him,_ she thinks, _I stopped talking to him._

Tiberius and Majel settle down almost immediately, though. Tiberius even flies across to Spock, settling on his shoulder Majel retreating to her other half’s side, head reaching up past his elbow to lick Tiberius’ legs. Jaime feels closer to Spock than she ever has before and yet, they’re on either side of the entrance to the Academy.

 _‘Jaime_ ’ she hears, like a whisper on the wind. ‘ _Where are you?’_

‘ _Here_ ’ Jaime says and Spock looks in her direction, hand brushing Tiberius’ wings, which are so large and huge that even draped down over Spock’s head and shoulders, they nearly touch the ground. ‘ _I’m here’_ she whispers across the connection she feels through Tiberius, like she and her daemon are no longer Separated, like they’re _normal_ -

“Tiberius Kirk! Don’t you have any manners at all, you uncouth bird?” Bones snaps from the top of the stairs, scandalised. Tiberius startles, practically falling off Spock’s shoulder before he finds his wings, flying up and over the crowds to a railing near where the doctor stands. Bones glares sharply at the Vulcan predator, far from scared of his talons or red eyes. “What the hell was that, now?”

Jaime can’t hear what Tiberius is saying, but clearly, Spock can. Stepping backwards, Jaime rushes away, taking a backdoor out of the building. Her heart pounds in her chest and she knows, undoubtedly, that Spock is aware that she’s here. Likely, he’ll discover Bones’ identity – if he doesn’t know him already, because Jaime _did_ convince Pike to recruit him – and then, he’ll realise that _Jaime Amanda Michael Kirk_ is the big, long name she’s chosen for herself in this new life of hers.

Jaime wonders if he’ll have the patience to wait for her to get to the _Enterprise_ next year, or if he’ll track her down. He only knew her as Jaime of Enara, who she is, truly, but as Jaime told Bones, she separated each new chapter of her life distinctly, leaving people and things behind.

“Jojo,” she queries the girl when she gets back to Bones’ place, sitting her on her lap as she eats cereal out of a bowl as a snack, “should I go find my old friend?”

“Yeah,” Jojo says distractedly and Jaime chuckles – because _yeah, she should._

* * *

Hanukkah comes, the New Year passes and Jojo turns four. Bones is officially caught up and the both of them are going to end up on the new _U.S.S. Enterprise_ , the new flagship of the Federation that will take her maiden voyage in little over two years. Over the holidays, Jaime took them to Iowa and showed them the shipyard from afar, Jojo squealing in excitement from the back-seat of the rented convertible.

When she gets back, Jaime has already decided that it’s time to put some effort into school again. She quits her part-time job at the bar that never got her a lot of money anyway and takes all the courses that can be offered that semester – even the ones Spock is lecturing in.

In a refresher xeno-linguistics class, Jaime meets Uhura who, like many, has her eyes on the _Enterprise_. One moment Jaime is talking fluent Vuhlkansu to her baffled first-year partner and his grasshopper, the next, the poor fellow has been sent away to talk to an Orion girl who Jaime learns later is called _Gaila,_ with her shiny Orion crab that sparkles in the sunlight and blends with her skin in the dark _._

“You’re Jaime Kirk,” the dark-skinned woman sits down beside her, tone clear that it isn’t a question. Her daemon is shaped like a Madagascan ring-tailed lemur, big yellow eyes gazing at Jaime in thoughtfulness as it rides piggy-back, long arms wrapped around her neck and its tail around her arm. “How did you get your name down on Captain Pike’s List?”

“…Pike knows me. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a good student.” Jaime says, eyeing her up and down. For once, Tiberius is staying close to her, rather than leaving class and flying around the city, bored. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“Uhura.”

“Uhura? Is there a last name to go with that?” Jaime questions idly, eyes drifting down the line of her waist as Tiberius watches from the third spare chair beside her.

“That is my last name,” Uhura replies and it’s curious – she doesn’t look at Tiberius, not interested in the least. “Lots of people are good students. It doesn’t get them on the flagship.”

“I’m just special like that,” Jaime demurs. Uhura narrowed her eyes, before snatching Jaime’s PADD off the table in front of her. Too surprised to do anything about it, Jaime watches as the first-year looks through her schedule, online assignment portfolio and trajectory path.

“ _Is there something the matter, cadet?_ ” their professor questions, Jaime glancing her way with a shake of her head.

“ _No, madam_ ,” she says, before looking to Uhura. “ _Do you actually know any Vulcan?_ ”

“ _This is my major,_ ” Uhura replies, frowning at what she sees and then proceeding to have the entire rest of their conversation exclusively in Vuhlkansu. “ _Why didn’t you graduate last year? You were doing excellently._ ”

“ _Personal reasons. I’m helping my best friend raise his kid. He managed to join me in fourth year, after some heavy work. He’s a doctor, McCoy – know him?_ ” Uhura shakes her head and Jaime’s lip quirks as she wonders if she can get Bones laid. “ _Do you want to?_ ”

“ _I’d rather talk to you,_ ” she says, flashing a smile at Jaime, one that makes her heart race strangely. “ _How did you learn Vulcan so well? Even I don’t have as good an accent as you do._ ”

Jaime doesn’t answer for a while, looking away briefly, focusing on the board where Standard phonetics of Vulcan adverbs are written underneath the Vuhlkansu script. When she finally does answer, she surprises herself.

“ _Vulcan was my home._ ”

* * *

It’s strange, but Jaime fits in better with Uhura and her friends in first year. Gaila is a riot, Cupcake is _fabulous_ and Jaime gets on too well with Gary, sometimes.

Bones and Uhura are cordial – which is good, because if they were more than that like Jaime planned, then Jaime herself wouldn’t be in a perfectly complementary relationship with the _Nyota_. Learning her name took longer than she thought and it wasn’t because Uhura told her.

No.

Jaime learnt Nyota’s name from _Chekov,_ the Russian boy-genius who Pike seemed to have assigned to Jaime as a buddy the moment they were on speaking terms again. Chekov – or rather, _Pavel,_ outside the Academy – apparently knows Nyota from her advanced classes in Starfleet History and Regulations.

“I was having fun making her guess,” Nyota whines to Bones the day after Chekov spills, just off the cafeteria. “Kirk is cheeky as hell.”

“And even more fun in bed,” Jaime adds, coming up behind her, arm sliding around her waist. She realises too late that Einstein is sitting on her shoulder, that her tail is brushing Jaime’s arm. Nyota flinches, both Nyota and Einstein drawing away from her. Bones winces on Jaime’s behalf, looking away.

“Be careful!” Nyota snaps at her. Jaime licks her lips, stepping back to raise her hands up by her head. Einstein pulls Nyota’s hair in front of his face, hiding from her. Jaime feels something like hurt and wants to explain – but she doesn’t, instead stepping towards Bones, into his personal space.

“You’ll be my pillow, right?” she questions him, faking a smile. Chekov, standing only a little further away with his coffee, makes a surprised face, eyebrows rising far up his head.

“Do you not feel it?” he asks her. “When you touch someone’s daemon by accident, I mean, Miss Kirk?”

“I keep telling you, call me Jaime, Pavel,” Jaime says lightly. Then, she answers his question truthfully, honestly – but not looking at Nyota as she does. “I used to. I wasn’t always Separated from my daemon, y’know. But…no, not really. I know intellectually that it’s _wrong_ and that I should avoid it, when people don’t love me unconditionally and vice versa. There’s only one person who makes me feel…normal.”

“Bones loves you that much?” Nyota questions, alarmed, before Jaime shakes her head, kissing Bones’ cheek when he makes a face and feeling a gentle pressure against her boot when Charlotte noses her foot.

“Honey-bear, don’t be sad. I know you love me. Spock’s just weird like that, the funky little telepath.”

* * *

The relationship doesn’t last more than a few months, romantically at least. Nyota knows something Jaime doesn’t. It would have had to end at some point, however, as when fourth year finishes, Jaime and Bones both are assigned to the _U.S.S. Shenzhou_. Nyota and their new friends are left behind for their final year at the Academy – but they aren’t far from mind, especially when both Jaime and Bones give them their new long-distance space numbers.

Jojo gets one too, to contact her mother and – of all people – her ‘best friend’ Kuron.

“I still don’t get it,” Jaime says to T’Kera over her first long-range call on her new ship.

“ _Kuron accepts the moniker in understanding that Jojo is four human years old,_ ” T’Kera replies, “ _He is educating her as best he can, despite the circumstances. He is compiling research, with permission from Dr McCoy, studying her reaction to the Vulcan method. From what I have seen from his paperwork, she is doing quite well._ ”

“That’s nice to hear,” Jaime gives a small smile, sipping her drink.

“ _I am to be married within the week,_ ” T’Kera then informs her, causing Jaime to choke. Spluttering, she glares at T’Kera over the screen, seeing the glint in her eyes even from the other side of the galaxy. “ _His name is Gorm._ ”

“Congrats-” Jaime coughs, taking a moment to clear her throat before continuing with a croak, wiping her lip. “Congrats, T’Kera, except – _why the hell are you getting married?_ Don’t tell me this ‘Gorm’ has somehow captured your heart and you haven’t bothered telling me.”

T’Kera is silent briefly, before she shakes her head. “ _I cannot inform you as to ‘why’, as it is personal in nature to Gorm. But this was planned for – we were betrothed during childhood, as all Vulcan’s are._ ”

Quite suddenly, Jaime remembers something she read in a biology book on Vulcan. Her face twists in horror. _No. T’Kera is not- but she **is** \- this Gorm-_

“It’s _pon-farr_ , isn’t it?” Jaime grimaces, thinking that it’s horrible that Vulcan men are made to go through that. If they didn’t _die_ without a partner, then Jaime would wonder why they didn’t just hole up in a room and deal with it.

“ _You should not know that,_ ” T’Kera says stiffly.

“I’m an honorary Vulcan, House of Sarek and everything,” Jaime denies her claim, frowning. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“ _Your sister Michael Burnham knows because she is an anomaly,_ ” T’Kera replies, “ _Her connection with Sarek altered her brain-chemistry enough that she suffers her own unique version of pon-farr. You are human, though and have since relinquished your right to know sacred Vulcan knowledge._ ”

“I feel so appreciated,” Jaime replies bitterly, stung from her words. “My shift starts soon.”

“ _An unlikely truth._ ” Her friend shakes her head, but raises the _ta’al_. “ _Live long and prosper, Jaime of Enara._ ”

“Live long and prosper, T’Kera,” Jaime replies similarly, ending the call. As if summoned, Jojo then decides to enter her quarters, demanding her to explain a high school mathematics problem that Kuron is trying to make her analyse, to discover the method on her own.

“It’s too hard,” Jojo pouts, climbing into Jaime’s lap with her PADD.

“Sucks to be you, kiddo,” Jaime shakes her head, focusing on the problem. She makes Jojo talk her through it, helping her come to her own conclusions, later seeing Kuron’s reply that awards her a certain amount of points for her report.

“He sends me books,” Jojo replies solemnly when asked about them, Link an arachnid, hanging from her ear. “Books suited to my mental capacity according to his flow chart…I know what a flow chart is, now!”

Tiberius flaps his wings, while Jaime wonders at the thought process of the average Vulcan. “Good for you, kiddo.”

* * *

The _U.S.S. Shenzhou_ is captained by the one and only Captain Philippa Georgiou, who spent a year and a half in the captivity of Klingons before being rescued by the crew of the _U.S.S. Discovery_ , newly captained by both her alternate universe counterpart, Emperor Philippa Georgiou and the Emperor’s wife…Michael Burnham.

Michael – who somehow fell for the Emperor and not her Captain. Said Captain was rightly a little offended when she found out, especially seeing how she knew Michael longer.

“I’ll steal you,” she teases Jaime, fiery eyes joyful, but with an edge of bitterness. At her side is a panther – black, with missing toes to match the fingers taken from Georgiou’s hands. “I’ll show up one day with you on my arm and Michael will faint.”

“ _Captain_ ,” her Number One laughs along with her demonic little chipmunk, smiling toothily at Georgiou’s imaginative reply, copper hair falling over her shoulder.

“The only thing that gets Michael fainting is unexpected come-on’s,” Jaime rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too. “I bet the Emperor’s possessive as hell.”

Georgiou leans back in her seat. “You know, you’re an interesting person, Officer Kirk.”

“How so? I know I’m cool, but interesting? Nah…”

“You’ve spent time in interesting places,” Georgiou replies. “Vulcan, obviously. But I heard through the grapevine that you stayed in the Academy for a longer time than you should have, just for Lieutenant McCoy.”

“He’s family,” Jaime replies shortly, frowning at her computer screens. “Captain, there is an approaching anomaly.”

“Describe it to me,” Georgiou commands, professionalism shining through.

Jaime squints, looking up through the glass before she brings it up on the big screen. “Heading towards us and fast. Small, about ten metres in length and six in diameter. I’d call it a meteor, but the flight path is off.”

“It’s being controlled,” Georgiou recognises, watching the projected flight path shift more and more in their direction. “Take us on a sharp turn, Murdock.”

Officer Murdock, their pilot, nods firmly. “Yes, Captain.” She swiftly pulls the _Shenzhou_ to the left, out of the meteor’s path. Jaime shakes her head. At her side, Tiberius says _it’s not stopping_ to her and only her.

“Still heading towards us, Captain-”

“Captain!” their communications officer startles, “We’re being hailed!”

“Who?” Georgiou demands, “What type of vessel?”

“I don’t recognise the frequency, Captain,” the officer replies. “I’m not picking up any nearby vessel, either.”

“Is it the rock?” Jaime questions.

“It must be. Answer their hail, officer,” Georgiou demands. The officer nods, flicking switches and opening a channel. “This is Captain Philippa Georgiou of the _U.S.S. Shenzhou_ on behalf of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets. Who is this?”

The screen is empty, then it splits. A pale being with four arms covered in green fluid answers them. Immediately Jaime pinpoints something wrong with them. Maybe it’s that green fluid – or maybe it’s the lack of movement everywhere else around them, reminding her eerily of the Soulless of Tarsus IV.

“ _Starfleet. Aid. We require aid. Now. No time._ ”

“Who is we?” Georgiou asks.

“ _No coordinates. Follow._ ” The being ends the channel, the communications officer unable to contact them again. On her computer, Jaime watches the ‘meteor’ change path.

Georgiou orders them to follow it.

…and that is how the _Shenzhou_ and her crew end up living in a bubble universe for three years, somehow avoiding being fed to an extradimensional horror.

* * *

“Is that _grass?_ ” Jojo demands, not waiting a moment before dropping down onto the dry, yellow dirt-pit full of dried rushes and what Jaime thinks is a snake. All around them, the crew of the _Shenzhou_ is greeting gravity and Tiberius is already tearing the poor snake apart that Link hadn’t yet spied.

“Never again,” Bones mutters at her side, shoulders slumped and his hands shaking. Jaime thinks she sees tears. “Never fucking again.”

Jojo is seven now – and she looks it.

“All that time spent in space,” Jaime looks around, seeing the _Enterprise_ waiting in dock, ready to be flown up into the black. It’s only been four months, Earth-time, but Starfleet has given the crew the next eight months off on paid leave, plus overtime for the _three fucking years_ spent in another universe.

They spent _three years_ fending off that monster trapped between three dying suns.

In the end, it was their chief engineer, Scotty, who came up with the idea to eject some power cells and a few dozen bombs into each of the suns. Restarting them might imprison the beast and the planet it was created on, protected by – the alien who drew them to the rip in space-time was the first able to escape in over a century.

“What are you going to tell Jojo’s mom?” Jaime questions, “I mean, everything will go public, probably, but still-”

“What do you think, Jaime?” Bones questions, voice strangled. “I’ll be lucky if I ever see Jojo again, once she goes to Jocelyn for the summer. The _Shenzhou_ was supposed to be doing milk-runs, not going on damn _monster-huntin’ adventures_ that _-_ ”

“I don’t want to see my mom,” Jojo then says and her words punch visibly into Bones’ chest like a sledgehammer. “I don’t need to. I have a new family.”

“New- Jojo, darlin’-”

 _Oh, this is bad,_ Jaime thinks, hearing his thick Georgia accent. She watches Bones as he hauls Jojo to her feet, hands tight in hers. They snip and snipe at each other, the shouting drawing familiar faces as Link turns into more aggressive forms, slowly but steadily.

Eventually – of course, once the crowd and the reporters are fully drawn around them – Jojo snaps and Link – little Link, Link who turns into giraffes, frogs and puppies – turns into a fully grown _sehlat_ , complete with bared fangs, thick brown fur and protective grumbles. He’s tall as a bear with a tail like a lions, but one that is as long as his body and whipping low, like a cat on a hunt

“I’M NOT GOING BACK TO HER!” Jojo screams at her father, so very, very loudly. “SPACE IS WHERE I BELONG!”

The thing is, Jaime has a sensitivity with Jojo and Link. It’s like her connection with Tiberius, only growing stronger throughout the years of contact. Even now, she stands close enough to them both that Link’s coarse hair, more suited to the Vulcan desert than the cold of space, brushes against her hand. What that bond tells her chills her to the bone, because this is her fault – it is _her fault_ that Link looks like this.

 _Show her sehlats, why don’t you,_ Jaime thinks sarcastically, cross with herself and guilty. _It’s not like Link will actually Settle in that form._

But Link _has_ Settled and Jaime thinks that only Link has realised that. Jojo is too much like her father, too much like Bones whose Charlotte got stuck as an Armadillo when he threw his father’s glass of whisky right at his head. Both McCoy’s are angry, even with all the kindness and compassion making up their souls.

“Enough, Joanna,” Jaime finally intercedes on Bones’ behalf. She meets Jojo’s betrayed eyes, shaking her head. “You’re going to see her, even if it’s just for the weekend. There’ll be times where your father and I can’t bring you to space with us and as horrid as it sounds, your mother is the one who has to take care of you during that. We love you and each other so much, but right now? You’re being a brat. You’re going to be seeing your mother.”

Jojo balls her fists, looking fit to argue, but Link makes a confused noise and there: distracted. Jaime doesn’t hesitate to scoop Jojo up onto her hip like she’s that same three year-old who she rescued from a collapsed building.

“Lincoln’s Settled. Deal.” Jaime says shortly, Jojo shocked into silence as Bones follows after her, where there’s a taxi-cab that can take them away from here.

Neither McCoy speaks for a long time.

* * *

On the _Shenzhou,_ Jojo started calling her Mama after their first year in the Bubble, after she saw Bones and Jaime kissing on the sofa. At first it was met with protest, but then she started calling Georgiou _Nana_ and Scotty _Uncle._ By the time the week was up, everyone she spent a significant amount of time with had a moniker – even the people they’d left behind.

Nyota became _Aunty Nyota_ , Gaila became _Aunty Gailra_ , Chekov became _Uncle Pavel_ , Gary became _Uncle Gary_ and Cupcake…stayed Cupcake, except when she called him Uncle Cake. It was weird and confusing and for some reason, Jaime forgets right up until they meet their friends again, Jojo in tow.

“Because the monster might get us and family’s all we’ve got,” Jojo replies succinctly when Gary spluttered out _why are you called us your aunts and uncles?_ She even calls Pike _Granddad_ , which is kind of confusing seeing as Jaime has a working relationship with him…though, she _might_ have been a little hero-worshippy over him, originally.

C’mon, he’s getting the _Enterprise._ He mentored her during her Academy years. He wrote a paper on her _Dad_.

“It’s weird, being a grandfather,” Pike says to her in amusement over his desk. Both of them have their feet propped up, Pike in regs while Jaime happily lounges in her comfiest civvies. “That make you my kid, Kirk?”

“Only if your paper was a love-letter to George,” she jokes. However, it becomes clear quite instantly, by the way he looks away sharply, not speaking, that maybe…maybe it _was._ “Aw, _Chris,_ ” Jaime mutters, “I’m not going to combust. You could have said.”

“…I don’t think he knew,” Pike replies after a long moment, slightly vacant. He focuses again, when he looks back at Jaime. “You’re my recruit.”

“Hardly,” Jaime’s eyebrows knit together.

“You’re _my recruit,_ ” he repeats, voice demanding she hear and understand. “There’s protocol and you’re irregular on your own, kid. It’s one thing for a traumatised seven-year old to call me _granddad,_ but I- you can’t risk that. You’re going to be on my bridge, Kirk. Even if I wanted that, your career comes first.”

“I didn’t know,” Jaime murmurs. “Is it a good idea, me being on your bridge if we’re like this? The flagship – it’s going out there. Five year ranging mission. That’s a long time, a _dangerous_ time. Can we keep this wrapped up?”

“As much as it pains me to say it, I’m not your father, Jaime.” Pike says, looking out the window. “You’ve got enough family, I think.”

It makes something ache in her heart. There’s a deep, sharp pang that doesn’t fade away. It’s like being stuck with a dagger she can’t remove.

“Got it, sir,” she says, trying to forget she ever realised in the first place.

* * *

Tiberius likes to visit Spock. Jaime can feel it when his hands brush through Tiberius’ feathers, when they trace the scars left by Tarsus IV and the Bubble – he makes her feel warm inside, breathless and aching. Bones is there, once, when they’re lying in bed together with Jojo away in Georgia with her mother.

It aches and it’s _hot._

Bones sees her staring at him in the dim light and he kisses her, more than how they kissed on the _Shenzhou._ They could never do _this_ , not with a child in the next room and Spock’s touch on Tiberius loosens the stretch between the two halves of her soul as Bones’ hand traces her figure, going down and down until fingers are swirling over _that spot_.

Across the campus, Tiberius shivers and lets his wings stretch backwards in an animalistic mating gesture, one that Spock recognises from his studies. Somehow, Jaime can see him instead of stars, even though her hands are planted in Bones’ hair. _Stars!_ She yells and Spock feels it through Tiberius, head bowing as her pleasure courses through them both.

“Leonard,” Jaime whispers, kissing him and returning the favour, feeling another rising ache in her belly that only worsens as Spock loses his precious Vulcan control to deal with his own needs, hand locked in the feathers and skin of Tiberius’ torso.

Things get out of control and then Jaime realises something very, very terrible about the situation.

“Bones- Bones, stop,” she says before it can get to actual sex. Above her, Bones freezes and there’s a lapse, his eyes filling with guilt.

“Jaime, I- I didn’t mean to tread wrong-”

“You didn’t, it’s me,” Jaime says and in her mind, Spock is still there, half-cocked like the rest of them as her thoughts fill his. _I agree,_ he thinks, _tell him. It is morally wrong to continue without his consent._ “Tiberius is with Spock.”

She sees when Bones’ eyebrows knit together in confused anger. “What do you mean? Can he feel everything we’re doing?”

“Bones, he practically _started_ this entire thing,” Jaime admits, licking her lips. “You know how me and him are with our daemons.”

Charlotte is between their pillows, nose burrowed in Jaime’s long hair. She’s not moved to touch Jaime, even when she climaxed. _Bones isn’t ready,_ she thinks with Spock, who agrees with her assessment.

Bones, the fucker, surprises them both by reaching across for her PADD and angrily searching for his number. “If he’s going to join in, he might as well _be here,_ ” the doctor says, frustrated. Jaime goes to sit up, but then Charlotte crawls over to her shoulder, curling up halfway inside her shell as she rest in the crook of Jaime’s neck.

_Oh!_

Twice the warmth. Twice the _everything._ Spock is frozen in place, receiving his own feedback from Jaime and it’s not the same, to him, but Jaime’s feelings still echo through their connection. Majel growls, wanting in.

“Why isn’t he answering? Stupid, horny hobgoblin,” Bones mutters, before Jaime tilts her neck, lips pressing against Charlotte’s scales. Bones shudders, but it’s _good._ Jaime can feel him.

“He’s coming. Majel’s the only one with a clear head,” Jaime breathes, stunned at the amount of love one person can feel. Jaime and Spock have yet to clear the air, have yet to admit what they think of each other – it’s still blooming between them, though what is unsaid is still _known_. Bones is a garden, in comparison. What he shares with Jaime is _everything_ and in turn, she showers him with sunlight and warmth and _love._

“He’ll be here soon,” she promises, trying and failing not to grin at the thought of Spock running across the Academy campus to fuck two, poor humans who’d had time to come to grips with their emotions – one who’d become fond of the Vulcan by proxy and the other who’d touched his daemon when they were teenagers. “We’re a wild set of cards,” Jaime breathes.

Bones snorts, putting the PADD down and kissing her, soft and light. “I’ll wait by the door for him,” he offers, standing up in his birthday suit alone, traversing their family apartment and leaving the bedroom, to answer the soon knocked-upon door. Jaime feels the loss of Charlotte as she follows her Bones, but Tiberius is the first to leave Spock, flying to her rather than let himself be carried across campus like the king he is.

Jaime has ego, but she also has modesty.

There’s no need for Spock to see any of the backlash that comes with loving with George Kirk’s daughter. Bones is already seeing a lot of it and Jocelyn and Clan McCoy, too, by default. Jaime has been officially invited to the Christmas reunion, with a promise of a Hanukkah celebration of her choice, if she stayed long enough. It was a no-brainer that Bones and Jojo were going – they’d missed the last two held for Starfleet reasons and then spent an extra three years in the Bubble.

Faintly, Jaime wonders if they could wrangle Spock an invite, as well. It was his family to teach her the proper way to celebrate, after all – Amanda, Spock and Michael. Even Sarek had added his own little nugget of enjoyment.

The door opens and closes after a knock. Then Bones is walking into their room, bringing the lights up to ten percent and Spock stops in the doorway, staring at her partially covered body. Jaime in turn looks back at him, biting her lip.

“…hi,” she says, like they aren’t meeting for the first time in person for _years;_ like Tiberius hasn’t just come through the window to crash delicately into Majel, who licks him and curls up around him on the floor; like Bones is still half-hard in full view of both of them. Her throat closes up. “I love you both, a lot, by the way – just to be clear.”

“My feelings mirror your own,” Spock says, looking back at Bones and raising his wrist, two fingers offered. Jaime sits up rapidly, watching Spock’s cheeks turn green as Bones tilts his head, copying the gesture gently. Spock shuts his eyes and then startles, because Bones is asking him if he’s going to fuck them both or just Jaime.

“Crass,” Jaime giggles, watching Charlotte walk over to her larger counterparts, Majel and Tiberius welcoming her. Spock shudders, their fingers still connected. “You’re making out with him, right now, Bones.”

“Great,” Bones replies casually as Spock says, _both, if that pleases you_ , reaching with his free hand to unbutton Spock’s rumpled shirt. “Strip off, will you? Do you need the heating raised, or will the sex and blankets be enough, green-blood?”

“They- they will be enough,” Spock says, stuttering. It’s adorable and Jaime tries to wait patiently for Bones to get him naked – but, well, Spock and Bones are doing an admirable job of not quite parting hands.

Eventually, sighing, because her partners are _too damn cute,_ Jaime just pulls Bones back to bed and orders Spock around, telling him the consequences of insubordination.

“Strip. _Now._ You can’t have clothes on – unless it’s a shirt – if you want to top us.”

He hurries up.

* * *

The sex is slow. It’s also mind-bending and awesome, because Spock is a mental wizard who links their psi-points – little though they might be, it’s enough, especially considering how their daemons are huddled together on the carpet. When Jaime moves, she feels the effects three ways – especially when they move together, Bones in the middle between Spock and Jaime, taking and receiving both ways.

“Jaime, Jaime-” Bones whispers like a prayer, even while Jaime grips one hand with Spock and slowly bruises his neck. An _entire fucking bottle_ of lube is used and Spock uses his tongue on her while Bones catches his breath, before the two of them are pressed against each other, cocks rubbing and human kisses being shared.

Jaime gets herself off while watching. Three times.

Then comes showering and _oh boy,_ do her guys not waste any time at all. It’s Bones who fingers her and Spock who kneels in front of him, taking him in his mouth and holding him up when Bones slips on the watery floor. They laugh over it and Jaime snogs Bones for the sake of it as he gets off, own pleasure out of mind until Bones _bones_ her, Spock sandwiching him again between him and Jaime.

“Best orgy ever,” Jaime gasps through the aftershocks, spluttering when the water turns cold. The three of them are equally as startled and what turns into a joke later is no laughing matter then, when she trips over their piled-up daemons in an attempt to get out of the shower. Spock, the asshole, turns off the shower before she’s even finished falling.

Bones laughs his ass off, which is why the last orgasm of the night is his, Jaime on his lap and Spock plowing him from beneath.

“Great night, darlin’s,” he slurs in exhaustion afterwards.

“It was _all_ our pleasure,” Jaime cackles, arms wrapped around Spock, wiggling in the middle of the stained sheets. “We’ll need a proper shower in the morning.”

“I’d rather have another now,” Spock says reluctantly, “but we used all our allocated hot water.”

“Such a shame,” Jaime teases, eyes shut, before she’s out like a light.


End file.
